


ACCIACCATURA

by alinewrites



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is a pianist with a troubled past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mindless sex

****************

( _thanks to Eliza for a wonderful, thorough and helpful beta - the story owes her a lot)_

Sprawled on a chair, his long legs stretched in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up his arms, his tie loose, Chris Keller was smiling to the young blond elegant woman, journalist actually, facing him. 

He’d agreed to this interview just because she was young and nice and had a beautiful mouth; but the whole thing was boring him to death. His eyes roamed over the girl’s face, stopped on her full lips coloured in red and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t listen to your last question,” he said, frowning, yawning, stretching, his muscles showing under the fabric of the shirt, moving, powerful body, and the girl blushed; he glanced at the man holding the camera behind her and smiled again. Hey, gorgeous, would you suck my dick if I asked you nice?

“My favourite part of tonight’s concert?” He laughed, ran his long fingers over his cropped hair. 

All of them so predictable; always the same questions, the same faked surprise; he looked for an answer that would take her off guard, wondering if, maybe she’d end in bed with him. But no, no, he wouldn’t do that; journalists weren’t supposed to know what kind of man was hiding behind the cool and sexy façade of the prodigy who played so wonderfully with his audience’s emotion; one of them had, years ago; a mistake Chris had been forced to correct in the worst possible way. Jesus, he didn’t want to think about that now.

“My favourite part? I think Bartok’s concerto.”

She nodded solemnly and then froze, her red lips parting in surprise and confusion.

“Bartok’s concerto? But... you didn’t play it!”

He grabbed the bottle of water and drank, smiled an ambiguous smile.

“Yeah, that’s why I loved it so much. Like women, you know… The ones you can’t have are always the best.”

He stared at her and got the expected answer; a deep flush and he saw the tip of a tongue dart out, moistening the full lips. Ah, man, he had to get someone in his bed tonight, and he didn’t give a damn about what his impresario, his ex-wife and all the fucking staff would say; he needed some good fuck to let go of the tension.

“Seriously?”  
“Yeah. After a concert I’m not lucid enough to answer serious questions.”

He unbuttoned his shirt a bit, sweaty taut skin showing and crossed his legs.

“Now if you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed; I’m exhausted.”

He waited for her nod and rose; walking away he brushed against the cameraman, feeling the heat against his body, and their eyes met; he felt the sudden rush of desire and smiled.

When he left the room, the woman sighed.  
“He’s wonderful… When he took off his jacket during the show and rolled up his sleeves, I thought some women were going to cream themselves right there.”

The man with the camera thought that some men had probably got a raging hard-on then, too; but kept silent.

Chris Keller stepped up the stairs, thoughtful, opened the door of his suite and smiled to himself.

Yeah, tonight was the perfect night to go out cruising. Boys, girls, he didn’t give a damn; any warm and willing body would do.

He'd planned to leave the hotel very late, late enough to escape his chaperons' watchful eyes -hey, they had some good reasons to keep an eye on him, the maestro was pretty unpredictable and wild, a lot of the untameable young downtown boy, saved from delinquency and prison by music was still there, waiting for a moment of doubt, a moment of pain, of boredom, to take ovver again and ruin their hard work. 

Before leaving, all black leather jacket, leather pants, sleeveless shirt, eyes shining, a lithe panther off hunting; he made a detour via the fancy bar upstairs, just to take a look at the city below, waiting for him.

He thought maybe it was too late for a drink, nearly 2am, and the bar would be closed.

It wasn't.

The bartender gave him a professional look and smiled, recognizing him.  
"Same as yesterday," Chris said

A knowing nod and the man pointed to someone sitting in a dark corner of the bar; Chris grabbed his glass and walked up to the silhouette near the picture window. 

A man. A Christmas gift of a man wrapped in a rumpled Armani suit, tie loosened, hair ruffled, eyes lost far away. 

Young enough, probably clean and attractive. Hey, raise your eyes, baby, I wanna see ya.

The man did. 

Blue eyes, clear and barely surprised, and a slow smiled stretched the expressive mouth. Fine, Chris thought, he wouldn't even have to go out, what he craved was sitting in front of him, looking hot.

Chris sat down, silent and sipped his drink, asked for one more; two more, one for him, another for his silent companion who looked a bit… unsteady maybe; Chris' brain looking for the right place to take him.

He noticed a golden ring -a wedding ring; aw that was cute, and he smiled, stretched out his fingers, let them brush against the sensitive skin on the inner side of the man's wrist, blue eyes looking at them in mild surprise; stroked more skin, pushed up the sleeve, unbuttoning it to reach higher until his fingers, the fingers that had sublimated Bartok and Haydn and Schubert's music only four hours ago, started stroking again and again until a troubled gaze met his own, until he heard the slightly ragged breath.

"Not here."

They found an empty room in front of the stairs, a simple one, not the luxurious suite Chris was used to but what the fuck? They didn't need more. 

The guy leaned against the locked door as Chris watched him, planning his attack, delaying it to increase his desire until it was so painful he couldn't do anything but pounce and slide his hands under the shirt, feel taut soft hairless skin under his trembling fingertips. He growled in need, while the man took off his jacket, unbuttoned the shirt, exposing himself to Chris' hunger, his hands, his lips, his teeth, and when he threw his head back in pleasure, biting his lips, Chris bit the strained neck hard.

They got rid of their clothes like boxers shrugging off their bathrobe before the fight, impatient and never breaking eye contact, discarding their clothes on the floor without much care.

Raw mindless silent sex, Chris' fingers playing on an unknown body, a symphony of moans and hisses and pleas filling his ears, silky hair brushing against his heated skin. He felt the warm body open up to him, letting him in, his fingers, his cock, taking him deep into tight hot flesh, felt him shudder, fighting the urge to clench his muscles around the invasion, heard him whisper "godgodgod…"

The guy had his back against the door, he was naked and offered, his legs hooked around Chris's waist, his weight on Chris's hips, every thrust pushing him back hard against the cool wood, his hands blindly seeking a support to ease the burden until Chris turned around, carried him to the table, buried inside him so deep that the other man was sobbing in delight and pain, his cock hard and leaking against Chris' belly.

"Please!"  
"Not yet, not yet, I don't have enough yet, hold on; grab the table."

Strong man's hands clenching on each side of the desk to meet the hard thrusts.

"Got a name?"

Breathless.

"Tobias. Make it Toby."

Breathless too.

Chris thrust deeper, and Toby arched his back, surprised, and moaned; Chris stilled long enough to kiss every single inch of the smooth chest; bite the erect nipples, leaving marks that would show; kiss muscled shoulders and arms, nibbling the strained sinews of the offered neck and the trembling chin, kissing the parted lips and combing his precious fingers through soft wet hair, listening to the soft noises Toby made and gritting his teeth to resist the urge to get more, much more, much harder, feeling Toby shake, aware that they wouldn't last much longer.

"Sweet fucking Jesus!" 

A yell when Chris thrust again, a vicious rough thrust, changing the angle to brush against Toby's prostate hard; and Toby came, endless spurt spattering Chris' chest and his own with hot come; Chris' hoarse laugh as he licked the sticky skin and thrust again.

"How much more can you take? How much more do you want?" He asked in a dangerous voice as he went on and on, feeling the soft cock against his belly twitch again, his own unbearably hard erection deepening the wound, splitting the other man in two… 

"Please, I can't…"

So Chris came, silent, dark blue eyes looking deep into Toby's soul; his hands bruising Toby's shoulders, then holding the shaking hips tight, trying to push his cock further, to bury himself deeper as pleasure kept spurting out of him until he had no strength left.

They stayed like that for long; collapsed together on the thick carpet, dragged a red satin quilt from the bed to keep them warm. 

Later they fucked again, sniffing, licking, biting each other, Chris' mouth everywhere, Toby's tongue into Chris' ass, Chris purring like a half-sated panther; half-sated only and soon strong arms dragged Toby back under the insatiable body, Chris surging inside him again while Toby growled and spread his legs wider.

Dawn found them still joined, Toby's breath hot against Chris' neck; Chris' fingers up Toby's ass, thrusting and stroking mercilessly while Toby's mouth, locked around Chris' cock kept him hard and starving… A shy sun was already licking the carpet as they finally yielded to the irresistible desire and came.

They parted without a word. Toby left first; Chris followed discreetly few minutes later; collapsed on his untouched bed and slept through the day.

That night he played like a possessed man, exhausting himself, drowning himself in Schubert and Haydn and Liszt, drunk with music; and he got a triumph, threw his tie and his jacket at a hysterical crowd, an unusual gesture in that uptight world, listening to the endless ovation, bowing to the audience, magnificent in his sweat soaked shirt, grinning, his eyes shining like sapphires. 

Three hours after the concert, he fell asleep in the plane that took him back home to New York and dreamed of more boundless sex.

That was the night Chris Keller became a legend.

tbc...


	2. mindless love

****************

( _thanks to Eliza for a wonderful, thorough and helpful beta - the story owes her a lot)_

Sprawled on a chair, his long legs stretched in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up his arms, his tie loose, Chris Keller was smiling to the young blond elegant woman, journalist actually, facing him. 

He’d agreed to this interview just because she was young and nice and had a beautiful mouth; but the whole thing was boring him to death. His eyes roamed over the girl’s face, stopped on her full lips coloured in red and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t listen to your last question,” he said, frowning, yawning, stretching, his muscles showing under the fabric of the shirt, moving, powerful body, and the girl blushed; he glanced at the man holding the camera behind her and smiled again. Hey, gorgeous, would you suck my dick if I asked you nice?

“My favourite part of tonight’s concert?” He laughed, ran his long fingers over his cropped hair. 

All of them so predictable; always the same questions, the same faked surprise; he looked for an answer that would take her off guard, wondering if, maybe she’d end in bed with him. But no, no, he wouldn’t do that; journalists weren’t supposed to know what kind of man was hiding behind the cool and sexy façade of the prodigy who played so wonderfully with his audience’s emotion; one of them had, years ago; a mistake Chris had been forced to correct in the worst possible way. Jesus, he didn’t want to think about that now.

“My favourite part? I think Bartok’s concerto.”

She nodded solemnly and then froze, her red lips parting in surprise and confusion.

“Bartok’s concerto? But... you didn’t play it!”

He grabbed the bottle of water and drank, smiled an ambiguous smile.

“Yeah, that’s why I loved it so much. Like women, you know… The ones you can’t have are always the best.”

He stared at her and got the expected answer; a deep flush and he saw the tip of a tongue dart out, moistening the full lips. Ah, man, he had to get someone in his bed tonight, and he didn’t give a damn about what his impresario, his ex-wife and all the fucking staff would say; he needed some good fuck to let go of the tension.

“Seriously?”  
“Yeah. After a concert I’m not lucid enough to answer serious questions.”

He unbuttoned his shirt a bit, sweaty taut skin showing and crossed his legs.

“Now if you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed; I’m exhausted.”

He waited for her nod and rose; walking away he brushed against the cameraman, feeling the heat against his body, and their eyes met; he felt the sudden rush of desire and smiled.

When he left the room, the woman sighed.  
“He’s wonderful… When he took off his jacket during the show and rolled up his sleeves, I thought some women were going to cream themselves right there.”

The man with the camera thought that some men had probably got a raging hard-on then, too; but kept silent.

Chris Keller stepped up the stairs, thoughtful, opened the door of his suite and smiled to himself.

Yeah, tonight was the perfect night to go out cruising. Boys, girls, he didn’t give a damn; any warm and willing body would do.

He'd planned to leave the hotel very late, late enough to escape his chaperons' watchful eyes -hey, they had some good reasons to keep an eye on him, the maestro was pretty unpredictable and wild, a lot of the untameable young downtown boy, saved from delinquency and prison by music was still there, waiting for a moment of doubt, a moment of pain, of boredom, to take ovver again and ruin their hard work. 

Before leaving, all black leather jacket, leather pants, sleeveless shirt, eyes shining, a lithe panther off hunting; he made a detour via the fancy bar upstairs, just to take a look at the city below, waiting for him.

He thought maybe it was too late for a drink, nearly 2am, and the bar would be closed.

It wasn't.

The bartender gave him a professional look and smiled, recognizing him.  
"Same as yesterday," Chris said

A knowing nod and the man pointed to someone sitting in a dark corner of the bar; Chris grabbed his glass and walked up to the silhouette near the picture window. 

A man. A Christmas gift of a man wrapped in a rumpled Armani suit, tie loosened, hair ruffled, eyes lost far away. 

Young enough, probably clean and attractive. Hey, raise your eyes, baby, I wanna see ya.

The man did. 

Blue eyes, clear and barely surprised, and a slow smiled stretched the expressive mouth. Fine, Chris thought, he wouldn't even have to go out, what he craved was sitting in front of him, looking hot.

Chris sat down, silent and sipped his drink, asked for one more; two more, one for him, another for his silent companion who looked a bit… unsteady maybe; Chris' brain looking for the right place to take him.

He noticed a golden ring -a wedding ring; aw that was cute, and he smiled, stretched out his fingers, let them brush against the sensitive skin on the inner side of the man's wrist, blue eyes looking at them in mild surprise; stroked more skin, pushed up the sleeve, unbuttoning it to reach higher until his fingers, the fingers that had sublimated Bartok and Haydn and Schubert's music only four hours ago, started stroking again and again until a troubled gaze met his own, until he heard the slightly ragged breath.

"Not here."

They found an empty room in front of the stairs, a simple one, not the luxurious suite Chris was used to but what the fuck? They didn't need more. 

The guy leaned against the locked door as Chris watched him, planning his attack, delaying it to increase his desire until it was so painful he couldn't do anything but pounce and slide his hands under the shirt, feel taut soft hairless skin under his trembling fingertips. He growled in need, while the man took off his jacket, unbuttoned the shirt, exposing himself to Chris' hunger, his hands, his lips, his teeth, and when he threw his head back in pleasure, biting his lips, Chris bit the strained neck hard.

They got rid of their clothes like boxers shrugging off their bathrobe before the fight, impatient and never breaking eye contact, discarding their clothes on the floor without much care.

Raw mindless silent sex, Chris' fingers playing on an unknown body, a symphony of moans and hisses and pleas filling his ears, silky hair brushing against his heated skin. He felt the warm body open up to him, letting him in, his fingers, his cock, taking him deep into tight hot flesh, felt him shudder, fighting the urge to clench his muscles around the invasion, heard him whisper "godgodgod…"

The guy had his back against the door, he was naked and offered, his legs hooked around Chris's waist, his weight on Chris's hips, every thrust pushing him back hard against the cool wood, his hands blindly seeking a support to ease the burden until Chris turned around, carried him to the table, buried inside him so deep that the other man was sobbing in delight and pain, his cock hard and leaking against Chris' belly.

"Please!"  
"Not yet, not yet, I don't have enough yet, hold on; grab the table."

Strong man's hands clenching on each side of the desk to meet the hard thrusts.

"Got a name?"

Breathless.

"Tobias. Make it Toby."

Breathless too.

Chris thrust deeper, and Toby arched his back, surprised, and moaned; Chris stilled long enough to kiss every single inch of the smooth chest; bite the erect nipples, leaving marks that would show; kiss muscled shoulders and arms, nibbling the strained sinews of the offered neck and the trembling chin, kissing the parted lips and combing his precious fingers through soft wet hair, listening to the soft noises Toby made and gritting his teeth to resist the urge to get more, much more, much harder, feeling Toby shake, aware that they wouldn't last much longer.

"Sweet fucking Jesus!" 

A yell when Chris thrust again, a vicious rough thrust, changing the angle to brush against Toby's prostate hard; and Toby came, endless spurt spattering Chris' chest and his own with hot come; Chris' hoarse laugh as he licked the sticky skin and thrust again.

"How much more can you take? How much more do you want?" He asked in a dangerous voice as he went on and on, feeling the soft cock against his belly twitch again, his own unbearably hard erection deepening the wound, splitting the other man in two… 

"Please, I can't…"

So Chris came, silent, dark blue eyes looking deep into Toby's soul; his hands bruising Toby's shoulders, then holding the shaking hips tight, trying to push his cock further, to bury himself deeper as pleasure kept spurting out of him until he had no strength left.

They stayed like that for long; collapsed together on the thick carpet, dragged a red satin quilt from the bed to keep them warm. 

Later they fucked again, sniffing, licking, biting each other, Chris' mouth everywhere, Toby's tongue into Chris' ass, Chris purring like a half-sated panther; half-sated only and soon strong arms dragged Toby back under the insatiable body, Chris surging inside him again while Toby growled and spread his legs wider.

Dawn found them still joined, Toby's breath hot against Chris' neck; Chris' fingers up Toby's ass, thrusting and stroking mercilessly while Toby's mouth, locked around Chris' cock kept him hard and starving… A shy sun was already licking the carpet as they finally yielded to the irresistible desire and came.

They parted without a word. Toby left first; Chris followed discreetly few minutes later; collapsed on his untouched bed and slept through the day.

That night he played like a possessed man, exhausting himself, drowning himself in Schubert and Haydn and Liszt, drunk with music; and he got a triumph, threw his tie and his jacket at a hysterical crowd, an unusual gesture in that uptight world, listening to the endless ovation, bowing to the audience, magnificent in his sweat soaked shirt, grinning, his eyes shining like sapphires. 

Three hours after the concert, he fell asleep in the plane that took him back home to New York and dreamed of more boundless sex.

That was the night Chris Keller became a legend.

tbc...


	3. Tested

************* 

Five nights and it was over; Toby was so tired he didn't even go to the closing concert–what for? He knew a lot about those fingers; they'd been almost everywhere on him, around him, inside him. Inside him, so deep, so hard, so controlling and he was hard just thinking about it; and the music… he would've been unable to care for the music.

But Christopher Keller didn't quite vanish from Toby's life; his laugh, his half dangerous smile, his focused gaze his voice lingered a bit more, popping in Toby's head at unexpected moments; then day after day the memory got hazier, Toby could shrug it off like something odd or funny, something he didn't regret, didn't yearn for, a reminiscence that made him smile; hey, he'd fucked Chris Keller, after all.

Until he found a message on his cell phone.

"Got tested. I'm clean, can assume you are 2 –except if you're making a habit of fucking celebrities in hotel bars unprotected. Get a kick out of that?"

Toby had to sit down, staring at the words on the screen. 

/ Conceited fucking bastard I'm gonna kill you. /

He hit the "call back" touch and waited. 

"Yeah? Fuck, what?"  
"Mmmm. How nice. Am I waking you up?"

There was a silence, the rustling of sheets being pushed away and a sigh.

"Man or woman?" Toby asked.  
"Does it matter? What the fuck do you want? It's… Toby, isn't it?"

/I-hate-you-prick./

"Thanks so much for remembering my name. Now listen, Mr Keller; would you do me a favour? Erase my phone number from your agenda."

More rustling and the noise of a door closing.

"Wait, wait… Why?"  
"You sent me a message, remember?"

The silence stretched, where the fuck could he be? Some high-class hotel, probably.

"Yeah, and then what?"  
"Do you really think I'm like that? Someone who gets off on fucking stars?"  
"Does it matter, what I think? I thought I'd let you know everything was OK."

Toby listened to the silence filled with a sound he couldn't identify.  
"Motherfucker," he hissed, then hung up.

Later he wondered about the noise; wondered if Chris Keller had been chuckling, or, and that was very unsettling, sobbing. When he wanted to call back, he only got the vocal box and he wasn't sure of what he should be saying. 

But surprisingly, he was called back in the middle of a meeting with his father, his brother Angus and other partners.

"Hey."

He rushed out of the room, caught his father's worried glance and smiled, hoping to reassure him.

"Yes?"  
"I'm… I'm really sorry, I was out of my mind."  
"You were laughing on the phone; or were you crying?"

He knew at the moment the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say –too late, too late, shit, what possessed you, idiot?

There was a sigh, very far, and a very quiet and soft voice saying, "OK, now listen. I wanted to apologize, that's all. There's nothing else to say. You're way out of your league with me, and I'm way out of mine with you; this relationship…"  
"We have no relationship, remember? It was just about sex, about fucking; you said it yourself."  
"I'm glad you see it that way. OK, let's just forget about it, right? We had a great time together, now it's over; I think it's better we don't hear about each other anymore."

Easy for you to say, Toby thought, because *I* keep seeing you in every of my favourite magazine, hearing of you on TV, and there's your face and sometimes more, and your smile on the CD's in every music store.

"You don't sound OK."  
"It's because I'm tired. Now drop it, please. And hang up first, I don't want to be the one who does that."

Toby just hung up, silently cursing the other man for spoiling a memory that had been a good one, so far.

After that his life was back to normal again, that old sort of boring normal; work, dates that didn't turn into anything good, the kids every week end, old friends; he began to date Katherine McClain, attractive and smart, a good lawyer with a strong sense of responsibility; at the time, he thought she was just what he needed, what he lacked. It wasn't passion, but didn't believe in passion. She didn't frown on him when he drank too much; her first husband used to be violent, Toby was a nice change; he'd never beaten anyone, man, woman or child, in his whole life. And Katherine's son was the same age as Holly, a perfect friend for Gary; things were fine, or so he wanted to think, think that he was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel after 3 years of emotional disaster.  
  
He read things about Keller; a short biography in a book by a famous author and something a journalist had written in a magazine. Christopher Kelller never discussed anything private during interviews; if a question about his childhood or something else was asked, he rose and left; people around him warned the journalists; interviews were all about music, and nothing else. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood he made a little show, put his wicked sense of humour on display, played the seductive part; but no private questions; he'd been trapped once or twice when he was young and untrained; that kind of things never happened anymore.

So all of it was second hand information. At the beginning of Christopher Keller's story was a girl of 14 giving birth in the toilets of a commercial center, and dying –blood loss. But the baby was alive when they found him. No one had ever heard of the girl before and no one ever claimed her, the cops didn't find anything about her, except a name she'd written on a sheet of paper, and Toby's Harvard trained mind thought of rape, incest, a young girl hiding her pregnancy until the end; things that weren't supposed to happened in a civilised country, but happened.

First time Chris played he was barely five; there seemed to be a mystery here; the story said a nurse sat the little boy in front of a piano and he just played some melody he'd heard, stunning all the people around him; later they all swore that the boy had never been near a piano before. The picture was nice; probably embellished; Toby guessed he'd never really know.

Anyway it wasn't difficult, then, to find a host family for such a gifted little boy; he received a special schooling. Until 14, he was an easy going kid, working a lot, focused solely on music. 

What happened then was noted nowhere; probably the boy had discovered something that had changed his perception of things.

Sex, Toby thought, and everything about his birth, enough to make his comfortable world crash down on him.

Anyway at the age of 17, after winning several prizes abroad, and three music contests, he broke loose; ran away, wandering from town to town, hiding. One night he was caught in a brawl and killed the guy he was fighting; an accident, his lawyer said, but the judge didn't quite believe it. Christopher Keller was sentenced to eight years, both too much if it was an accident, and too little for a murder; from the day he was incarcerated, his entourage worked hard to get the sentence reduced.

Three years later, a tough and angry Keller was released from a prison called Lardner; he'd protected the only thing that mattered to him, his hands, and he'd kept on playing piano, encouraged by a woman who worked part-time as a psychiatrist there. When he got out, first thing he did was getting married with the sister of an older guy who'd been his cellmate for a while; her name was Kitty, she was a witty smart woman, she negotiated a new contract for her husband with a major company and the music swallowed him again, recording sessions, hard work, concerts everywhere and this growing fame he didn't seem to care much about. Three wives, three divorces, and rumours.

"Not only did he go to prison," Neill Philips explained to him one day they were having dinner together, "but the rumour says he killed a man. I mean, another one, a journalist who'd been a little too curious about some things; last time his friends saw him the guy was going to a rendez-vous with our genius; no one ever heard of him after that."  
Toby glanced at his plate and sighed.  
"What did the cops said?"  
"They questioned him for days, but he just said they'd parted around midnight and that the man had taken a cab. They never found the body."  
"Maybe he's not even dead."  
"Maybe. And maybe our homophobic pianist killed him. Daniel was gay."  
"Did you know him?"  
"I'd met him once or twice, hot young geek, a brain, blue eyes, witty and obstinate. Why are you so interested in Christopher Keller? Are you a fan?"

Toby saw Neill's disapproving eyebrow.  
"Not really," he said.

June came, and flew by, lot of work, lots of cases, most he won but still, Toby didn't feel quite satisfied with his work; he bought some new records, avoiding piano pieces, went to the opera with Katherine, to the cinema with the kids, listened to Gen's rants about her alimony being too low- usual stuff; and then a hot dry July; Toby's parents left for holidays in some cozy island, his kids at Gen's parents' place, Katherine was spending two weeks with her son in Europe; most of friends were gone too. He went to bars, drank, chatted with strangers, had dinner with his brother. One night he went home very late, walked up the stairs and stumbled over something at the top of the stairs.

Someone, he realized; strong arms caught him as he was about to fall, he was pushed back down on the hard stone, sheltered by the shadows of a dark night and heard a soft laugh.

"Hey, you're drunk!" lips crushed on his, a tongue explored his mouth, "I can taste vodka and… what else?"

He pushed him away, looked hard.

"I can't believe it! What the fuck are you doing here? What…"

Chris leaned against the wall beside the door.  
"It's a nice place you have here; but lonely."  
"Chris, listen, I don't know if you're drunk of something, but…"  
"You're not happy to see me? Come on, I bet you are!"

Toby took a deep breath and tried to get up but two strong hands kept him sitting, holding him still; he felt sweat running down his spine and tried to believe it was anger of fear. But it wasn't and when Chris shifted, came closer, crouched in front of him, his eyes peering through the darkness, Toby found it difficult just to breathe; he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, fingers stroking the nape of his neck.

"How long have you been here?"  
"I don't know. Two hours, three, maybe, I was waiting for you. I didn't know where you'd gone. New lover?"

Fingers snaked inside his pants, flew the buttons opened.

"No, listen, it's over, you said…"  
"Forget it; I changed my mind. I missed sex with you."

Toby's cock stretched lazily against the warm wet palm and he moaned.  
"What do you want?"  
"You."

Toby tried to escape. "Let's get inside, then."  
"You're freaking out? Afraid someone will see us? No one can see us, it's too dark, too late and the road's too far; nice place, by the way; don't think I'd told you that before."

Two fingers squeezed the head of his cock, Toby made that mewling sound that seemed to turn Keller on.  
"Jesus, I wanna be inside you," he said, yanking Toby's pants down, revealing a soft pale ass, pushing his thumb against the tight opening, lightly first, then harder.  
"You want that, don't you?"  
Toby mewled again and the wet thumb entered him roughly.  
"Oh fuck yes, I like that," Chris said, grinding his straining cock against Toby's ass, getting himself ready.

No lube, no condoms; unsafe rough dangerous sex with someone he hadn't seen for a whole year – No, no way; it took him all he had to push Chris away, fight him, his body screaming for release, his brain struggling for reason. 

He managed to free himself from Chris' grip and fastened his pants with trembling hands then reached for the light.

"Jesus, what happened to you?"

Chris said nothing, tucking his cock back into his pants with shaking hands; Toby helped him up and into the house, sat him down on the couch.

"Hey, what happened," he said, brushing trembling fingers against the dirty face, not daring to touch more, noticing wounded hands, cuts bleeding, swollen wrists.

"Nothing," Chris said, "I just crashed my fists in the walls a bit too hard, I guess."

There was something in his eyes Toby didn't like, something that reminded him of a stray cat he'd found years ago, wounded, and hidden in his room. He'd given him the same defeated look that said, "what's the point?"

"Why don't you take a shower, I'll get you some clothes, then…"  
"I don't wanna talk about it, right? But," Chris said, looking utterly exhausted, "would you do this "mi casa es su casa" for me? Just for a night or two? Please? I have nowhere to go, I'm tired of sleeping outside."

Mi cas es su casa? Toby frowned; and smiled, remembering. "Oh, yes. No one's after you to cut your head off, though?"  
"Well, looks like they'll cut my balls when they find me."

Toby took a pizza out of the fridge and shoved it into the oven, sat down on a chair waiting while Chris Keller was showering.

When Chris came back he looked a bit better, cropped hair still wet, unshaven, eyes tired, emaciated but even like that, oddly dressed in Toby's clothes, he still looked different, a god among human, a tiger among cats, and it didn't have much to do with beauty, Toby had seen other men more beautiful, Neill Philips first of them, 15 years ago, long curly dark hair, dark eyes and golden skin, a Greek god, really –but that was before his friends began dying, before he gave up the naughty life he loved so much, and Toby; even if they had only fucked a dozen times, he still remember how stunningly beautiful Neill had been.

But Keller… He shook his head, unable to pinpoint exactly where the attraction lay, what made him so seductive, irresistible and hot. Something in the way he moved, maybe, or his fierce blue gaze; his sensuous mouth; his body; his hands, all of the above. 

God I want him, I want him so much it hurts, he thought, Chris sitting in front of him, fumbling with his fork and knife until he gave up and grabbed the pizza with his aching hands.

"We have to do something about your hands."  
"They'll heal. Don't worry about that."

None of your business, Beecher, he translated, just give me shelter for a day or two, and I'll give you what you want in trade.

"You know, you don't have to fuck me, I'll let you stay without that," Toby said casually.  
"I'll keep that in mind."

OK, so much for seeking reassurance; he was right after all, I'm way out of my league here.

But later, Chris said, "Would you mind my sleeping with you?"  
Toby snorted.  
"Given all we've done already, sleeping in a bed doesn't look too compromising, I guess."

They walked up to Toby's room together, Chris throwing himself onto the bed, arms spread wide as Toby undressed.  
"Come on, come here," he said, impatient, held out an arm, grabbed Toby's naked hip and pulled him down, wrapped him in his arms, stretching against his body with obvious relief.

"Mmmm. Yeah, feels good."

They fell asleep in each other's arms but when Toby woke up at dawn, he was alone; fuck, he thought, Chris was gone again. He stretched, on still warm sheets, listened to the silence of an early morning, heard something downstairs and got up, swaying a bit with sleep, walked down.

Chris was standing in front of the mahogany bookcase in the living room.

"A lot of records," he said without looking at Toby. He was barefoot, Toby's jeans on, nothing else. "Did you fall in love with Dinu Lipatti? You've got an awful lot of piano stuff by him."

He turned to Toby, noticed his dishevelled hair, flushed cheeks and smiled.

"You in a hurry? Have to go somewhere?"  
"Yes. No. What time is it, exactly?"  
"It's barely six, I couldn't sleep, I spent sometimes trying to find where you were hiding the coffee machine. Did I wake you up?"  
"No, not really. I… I have to go to work early and…"

Chris laughed, came closer.  
"Wake up, Baby," he said, giving Toby a light shake, "It's Sunday; you work on Sundays?"

Ah, shit, Toby thought, I'm being so lame.  
"Well, why not? I got some files I have to finish; it's not like I had something better to do, you know…"  
The grip on his shoulders hardened.  
"Stop that," Chris Keller said, his voice soft and soothing as he combed his fingers across Toby's hair and said, "Let's make some coffee, OK?"  
Toby gave in to the touch, leaned against the strong body and sighed.

They went back to bed, drank coffee, dozed off, woke up again and Toby showed Chris around the house, the kids' bedrooms, what had been his and Gen's bedroom before she left him for that other guy, and where he didn't sleep anymore, and the garden protected by big old trees, morning sun pouring down through the leaves; Chris raised his head, looked up.

"You didn't show me the cellar."  
"It's not really a cellar; it was a room… I used to sleep there, sometimes, when I wanted some privacy. Read. Listen to music."

If Chris found that strange, he didn't say it loud.

"Show me, then."

The door was locked; Toby fumbled with the key, walked into a little attic room smelling of wood, opened the blinds and light rushed inside, dust dancing in golden rays; they blinked. There was an old metallic bed, a locker and …

"You have a piano."  
It was an old shiny black upright Steinway.  
"Yes, my grandfather gave it to me; it's an old one, but the sound's quite good."  
"You play."  
"I played, I don't anymore. Holly does sometimes; she's my daughter, she loves this place. Romantic and all."  
"Why don't you play anymore?"  
"I don't know; life changes, you know; I changed."

Chris looked at him closely; like hell you changed, he seemed to think, but kept silent once more; then went to the piano, sat on the stool and lifted the lid, ran his fingertips on the keys, just brushing against the old ivory, making no sound at all, but Toby could feel a shiver run down his spine.

"Ok, let's give it a try. My wrists feel better this morning. What do you want to hear?"  
"I… I really don't know; whatever you like to play."

Chris glanced at him and smiled; spent a mighty long time running his hands on the keys, playing randomly, then started something slow and easy and wild, Dvorak maybe, Toby thought, or Svetlana, not a lot of virtuosity implied -probably Chris' hands were still aching; but the result was breathtaking. The music that seemed to permeate every single cell of his brain and body; the sheer pleasure of having Christopher Keller for himself alone, and the sight of this sharp profile, brows knitted in focus, gaze intense and dark, fingers dancing on the keys; and the sun stroking delicious shades of gold on the naked skin of Chris' shoulders and back, while droplets of perspiration ran lazily down his spine.

Toby couldn't help, he rose from the bed where he was sitting and crossed the distance between them, rested his hands on the Keller's shoulders, licked a bead of sweat, warm and salty, his tongue roaming higher, on the nape of his neck, against his jaw, his teeth nibbling the earlobe; and yet Chris kept playing.

"Keep it up and you'll have to fuck me," he said in the end.  
"Whenever you feel ready; I sure am."  
"Then suck my dick, first," Chris said, pushing back the stool to give Toby some room, watching him kneel at his feet and unbutton his pants, yank them down, and blowing hot air against Chris' hard dick.  
"Bitch," Chris said and moaned when Toby swallowed him all; leant forward and rested his forehead on the keyboard in a discordant explosion of sounds, closed his eyes and finally came in Toby's mouth, his thighs shaking under Toby's hands as the sounds echoed and died in the room.

Led to the bed, he waited until Toby had retrieved something that could pass for lube and relaxed, letting slick fingers open him up and Toby's cock enter him, torture him in a soft and unyielding way, until he was begging for release because it was so much pleasure it hurt and Chris was always afraid that he could leave a part of his soul in something that intense; an old fear that led him to be cautiously picky about the few ones he let fuck him. Toby took pity on him, stroke his cock once, twice, more and they came together, shining with sweat in the warm sun of July; phone ringing desperately downstairs and Toby not giving a fuck, listening to the music of Chris harsh breathing.

They slept and fucked again, on the wooden floor where they'd fallen, and against the wall beside the window; then fell asleep.

It was late in the afternoon when Toby roused in Chris' arms. Something had woken him up, the always working part of his hyperactive brain warning him; and as he breathed in Keller's heat, never wanting to leave, filling his nostrils with the smell of sweat and come lingering in the room, his clouded mind cleared up.

/I'm being played/

Chris woke up minutes later and their eyes caught.

"Hey. What's up?"  
Toby sighed; dreading to ask, wanting to believe just a minute longer; he rose, naked, went to the window, turned to face Chris...

"You may think I'm a bit dense and easy to fuck with but I'd like to know now," he said, resting a cold blue gaze on Chris still slouched on the bed, "What do you want from me? What is all this seduction game about, exactly?"

Chris Keller shifted, his smile unchanged, got up and came near his host, glancing out at the garden where shadows grew.

"Hey, bright guy, I like you," he said, nuzzling Toby's neck with his lips.  
"Stop it and answer my question."  
"OK, then, you wanna know why I'm doing this, huh? Except the fact that I'm getting a real kick out of it? Except the fact that you turn me on? That you're the best fuck I ever had?"  
"Something like that, yes; the naked truth."

Chris stepped back, tilted his head on the side, and his smile faded.

"Two weeks ago I trashed the recording studio, hurt a guy there; then I broke loose and cancelled my recording sessions, a concert, broke the contract I had with my recording firm, fired my staff… What else?"

Ah, they'd done a good job in shutting everything up.

"Anyway I'm in deep shit; the only thing I need right now is a sharp minded wicked Ivy League successful lawyer to save my sorry ass. I think you can do that."

And he shut up, looking deep into Toby eyes, waiting for an answer.

Tbc…  



	4. Wicked games

************* 

"Dad, I could use some time off."

Harrison Beecher turned to look at his son and frowned.  
"Up to something, son?"  
"I… I want a little time for myself. A friend of mine," friend, my ass, he snorted inwardly, "A friend of mine needs help."  
Harrison frowned, inquisitive but Toby continued.  
"I wrapped up Jackson's case yesterday; did you read my note?"  
"Yes, surprising ending, isn't it?  
"Not like it was unexpected but I'm relieved; and he had much more to lose than 200 000 $ anyway."  
"You did a nice job on that, and it's not like we're overwhelmed with work," Beecher Senior said, smiling "Take your holidays, Toby. You deserve it."

He offered to drive his son back home but Toby took a taxi; since he'd stopped driving, he tried to get used to this new disability, sure that he would be unable to drive again, even when he'd be given his license back; just sitting behind a wheel made him sweat, he kept seeing the little girl on the bike, feeling the sudden rush of adrenalin and the shock when the car had crashed into the wall. His stomach churned and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to overcome the sickness. 

He asked the taxi to stop more than a mile from his house and walked back home, his jacket thrown over his shoulder, under the warm setting sun. He hadn't locked the door, and it was a strange feeling; coming back home and finding someone there for the first time in two years.

From the hall, he could hear the music; Chris was playing, the same part over and over again until it sounded like he wanted it to, probably; then he went on with another phrase. Toby leant against the door to listen and the music followed him into the living room; he poured himself a drink, downed it and took a deep breath.

"OK, let's go." 

The cellar was bathed in semi-darkness but sun was everywhere, snaking between the slats of the blinds, creeping on the floor up Keller's legs, resting on the nape of his neck, his cheekbone, delightful vision and Toby thought maybe he should have a camera. But of course Chris wouldn't like it so he watched long enough to imprint every detail on his mind, then sighed and walked into the room, the old wooden floor creaking under his feet; Chris looked up, smiled but didn't stop playing.

"So? Got an answer for me," he asked, letting his fingers run on the keyboard, magically waking up the enthralling mood of Rachmaninoff's second concerto.

"I took some holidays, two weeks for you."

Chris roared.

"No, not that," Toby said, laughing, "I mean you and your case. You, as a person, are leaving."

A deep sigh and Chris let the music die in the middle of a phrase, notes trailing in the warmth of the room; there was a frustrating moment for Toby; he knew the concerto by heart and had already anticipated what would come after.

"Yeah? Why? I love this place."  
"Of course you do but I don't fuck my clients; we would be in a very awkward situation if someone came to believe that I took up your case because you'd fucked me."  
"But it's the truth, isn't it?"

Smug bastard, Toby thought. 

"Partly, yes."  
"Partly?"  
"I love challenges."

Chris shut the lid down and rested his elbow on the wood, looking at Toby with a strange expression of amusement.

"A little fun, uh? I think it's gonna be a hell of a challenge. What do you think we can expect?"  
"I don't know yet but we'll salvage as much as we can and if I understood what you told me last night, the most important thing is your freedom, isn't it?"  
"Yeah. I wanna be free to play whenever I like, whatever I like, and sign up with a company that will let me enough freedom to live my life the way I want."

Toby looked at him and asked again.  
"You're not in it for the money, you sure about that? I don't want you to come to me afterwards and tell me I made you destitute."

Chris laughed. "Please, don't do that, Toby, I'd have to come and live here."  
"You know what I mean."  
"Ah, you're a tough bastard when it comes to business, aren't you?"

He rose and went near Toby.  
"I'm not in it for the money. I wanna be free; get rid of those people who've been living off me for 15 years. I hate them," he said in a soft chilling voice.  
"I'll do that. I'll find a way."  
"You're very self confident," Chris said, his breath trailing against Toby's cheek.  
"Not really; only in my job."  
"Yeah? Well I'd say you're good at a lot of other things, baby."  
"Don't you fucking baby me, Keller."

Chris stepped back, looked at Toby's flushed face.

"In the beginning, I used to call my dates baby because I didn't want to take the risk of fucking with their names, you know, when you call Jill Sarah, stuff like that; it had earned me some good slaps when I was a kid."

Toby chuckled, yes, he knew what Chris was talking about; he remembered Gen's face when… whatever.

"But you're right; you're no fucking date so I won't call you that."

They stared at each other for a while, blue against blue, cold icy gaze against dark stormy look then Chris leant forward and kissed Toby's mouth.

"I wanna have sex with you before I leave," he said, his gaze on Toby's wet mouth.  
"All right but after that…"

Chris' kiss cut him short, he heard a low growl and a strong body pushed him to the bed.

"No one will ever know; now let me think of the best way to make you mew the way you do when you're happy with me."

He tugged at Toby's shirt, trailing him to the door. "C'mon, let's go to your room; I'm too old to do it on the floor every time."  
"Never tried on a piano?"  
"No. It would be a sacrilege."

Chris found the right way; a long teasing session, kisses everywhere, bites, and Chris' tongue wrapped around Toby's cock, never long enough to make him come, but long enough to make him crazy; and finally the tip of his cock against Toby's ass.

"You're the hottest fuck I ever had, Toby, I swear," he said, and pushed his cock inside hard, feeling Toby's body jerk in surprise, his mouth open –and he did it; mewed like a wild cat about to pounce, low and fierce, his head thrown back, caught in the slow rise of pleasure, moving back to meet the hard thrusts - but Chris withdrew, panting, looking deep into Toby's eyes.  
"I won't beg you!" Toby said.  
"Hey, tough guy, it's not what I want. Turn around; turn around, I wanna see your ass, and your back and your hair when I fuck you."

Toby's hips were pulled up by strong hands, his ass bitten hard and Chris' tongue teased his opening, wetting it, licking it, pushing just the tip inside until Toby moaned loud and banged his fists against the bed.  
"Yeah, like that, Toby, hold tight; I'm gonna give it to you hard."

And he did, he sure did, hard and deep and long until Toby couldn't hold back anymore made that noise; Chris laughed and bit his shoulder fiercely.  
"Come on, come on, do it again!"

They had to wait for their hearts to stop racing, their cocks stop pulsing, their breathing come back to normal, and then Chris rolled off Toby and remained like that for a minute or two, a hand on his eyes; before saying, "Mind if I take a shower before leaving?"  
"It's a joke, right? Of course I don't."

Leaning against the door, later, running the towel over his body to dry himself, Chris asked.  
"I'm surprised you agreed so easily, I thought maybe I'd have some work to do to persuade you."  
"Oh did you? I thought you relied on your incredible gift for sex to do all the work," Toby said.

Chris looked at him through half-closed eyelids, the towel in his hand.  
"I trust you on that, Toby," he said after a while, his voice and eyes solemn.  
"I'll do my best. But I keep wondering about the reason that made you choose me? There are a lot of very talented famous influential lawyers who would've helped you with that."

Chris put on his jeans, his shirt, buttoned it, nodding.  
"Maybe. I just don't trust them. I fired the people around me because I'd stopped trusting them, I left the company because I didn't trust them anymore. Trust is everything."

Then he was gone and Toby was alone.

Chris took a cab to the motel out of town where he'd left his stuff, some clothes and important papers.  
"You know," Toby had told him, "for a moment I believed you'd crashed on my doorstep like a stray dog."  
"I don't think you believed it; I think at the moment, believing it suited you."

He trusted Toby to do his best for reasons he didn't quite understand himself; his trust was partly rational, based on things he'd learned about Beecher from other people; partly instinctive. And the sex, well, the sex had made things easier of course, it had been a nice touch, really nice. What you can learn in bed about someone doesn't lie, the way someone gives in, fights, leads, pushes, nudges, Chris thought, that's what he really is and if he's half as stubborn and inventive and passionate as he was there, I'd say chances are pretty good I'm out of this shit.

After two weeks Toby had a fairly precise idea of the way he was going to negotiate.  
"You don't want to go to trial, do you?" He asked Chris on the phone one day he'd called him to sum up the situation.  
"Fuck no. What about the guy I hurt?"  
"He's OK."  
"I… won't go to prison for that?"  
Toby would've laughed but something in Chris' voice held him back.  
"No, I worked on a financial compensation and anyway you didn't hurt him on purpose; besides, he shouldn't have been there, he was just some fan who'd managed to break in."  
"Fine. Call you back later."

Toby broke the news to his father one day they were having dinner together, alone; and Harrison Beecher didn't like them.  
"It sounds a lot like you're giving us up, Toby," he said, staring at his crab salad, shoulders stiff.  
Toby had expected that, he'd heard the same thing 12 years ago, when he'd been facing the choice that would commit his own life, fought –and lost. This time he wasn't ready to lose again.  
"I'm not giving anything up; just working on my own on a case that interests me."  
"And it will take a lot of time, so I guess I won't be seeing you for a few weeks; maybe some months."  
Toby put down his fork and knife and looked at his father.  
"Maybe some months and I'm not the only lawyer in your practice, and our cases lately have been so boring that I could die, so you'd better let me have some fun before the idea takes me to just –leave."  
"It would be a desertion."  
"Yeah? Well, fuck that. I agreed to work here when I had proposals from every best practice in New York and London; I was the best when I left Harvard but you used the same word, remember? Desertion; so I stayed, because Uncle Harry was dead and you needed me, you said I would be free soon enough, then I married Gen who was the perfect wife for me, or so you said. Dad, it's been 12 fucking years."

Harrison Beecher glared at his son. "Unhappy years, I guess? Miserable earnings…"  
"I didn't say that. What I said is that every time I try to do something by myself, you use the same old emotional blackmail… I hate that. Angus could take my place, I could leave –I don't."  
"Should I thank you for that?"

Toby looked at him and sighed. "Whatever, I like this case, I'll take it."  
"I hope it's not a too easy one."

And that was low, Toby thought, that was really low; he was known to lose easy cases and win the most difficult ones; a matter of motivation, probably. Hell, he was very motivated right now.

Later he called Keller and they had a long serious conversation, nearly two hours, Toby sprawled on the couch in the living-room, surrounded with files, notes, his computer roaring behind him.  
"You gonna work all evening?"  
"Don't think so. I'm supposed to have dinner at my parents' place with my girlfriend."  
"Ah, the sexy lawyer?"  
"Yeah."  
"OK, go get ready, then; I'm going out myself."  
"Girlfriend?"  
"Ex-wife. About the same, you know, a fine woman. But apart from sex we didn't have that much in common so…"  
Toby shifted and sighed.  
"Yeah. Have fun then."

The dinner was awkward; Harrison Beecher didn't speak much and threw challenging glances in his son's direction but Toby was determined; he didn't want Katherine to be caught in the middle of a storm before coffee. He waited as long as he could and finally told everyone about his decision; of course he had to explain how he'd met Chris Keller and thank God his grandmother wasn't there; he couldn't have kept cool under her shrewd look.

"I met him after the master class, we talked a bit, I gave him my card."  
Katherine looked at him, looking hurt.  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
"I wasn't sure until yesterday that Christopher Keller and I agreed on every detail."  
"I heard strange things about him; his… behaviours. Tendencies; he's been married three times but from what I heard he spends a lot of time with young men," Harrison Beecher said.  
"A homosexual?"  
"Those artists, sensitive and all!"  
"Keller doesn't really look like a fag to me and he's a bloody good pianist."

Thank you for that, Angus, Toby thought smiling to his brother.

"And what about that man he killed? Neill Philips told me once…"  
They bowed their heads to listen to Katherine and Toby closed his eyes, tried to relax.  
"He doesn't seem to be a very honourable man."  
"Jackson was certainly not an honourable man and we did defend him; it's an interesting case, and as Angus said, he's a bloody good pianist; probably the best."  
"And a star. They won't let him go," Angus said.  
"Come on, he's no Britney Spear, he doesn't make that much sales."  
"No, but that kind of artist does a lot for the prestige of a company. They won't let him go, believe me."  
Toby smiled. "Want to lay a wager on that?"

Katherine drove him back, finally, questioning him about Christopher Keller with the wary interest she showed for dubious people; but Toby didn't have much to say, he didn't know much, after all.

A week later, informed by a friend she'd met in Harvard that something was going on, Lea Winsley invited Chris Keller on her new CBS evening show. She'd expected a rebuff, but he came, alone, dressed in a very casual way; black jeans, black long-sleeved polo, boots; he'd lost weight, looked tired, a bandage around his right wrist, his hands restless against his thighs. He'd given up his usual smug attitude and answered the questions honestly, didn't try to play games, explained why he'd ran amok, didn't try to justify anything, just said he was too weary to go on. He explained how he'd been recruited when he was 21, just out of prison, and had agreed to everything, at the time; read aloud some clauses of the contract that sounded very abusive –Toby had worked hard on the choice; choked on some words; and when he said, "I'm not asking for much, you know, just freedom," he sounded so true that Toby was sure that every listener believed him –hell, he would've believed him, himself, if they hadn't worked so hard on every detail.

"Tomorrow's Valentine day," Lea Winsley asked, "is there someone in your life, Mr Keller?"

/Jesus, don't say anything stupid, please! /

Chris' trembling smile and his softest voice. 

"I've been married three times but… When God gives you these hands as a gift…" The camera made a close up on Chris' fingers, "there's a counterpart; I'm not sure God gave me the ability to love; it's something I gave up years ago. Music's my only lover." 

He agreed to play in spite of his wounded wrist, sat in front of the piano and played one of the most poignant Chopin's nocturnes, fascinating, his hard profile softened with wistful pleasure, his hands relaxed on the piano, languid gestures rousing effortlessly the emotions that had been asleep in the score, summoning up the pain and the passion to flood a mesmerised audience; exactly like a sorcerer and it was enchanting, Toby thought, and infinitely precious, this gift he had. 

Toby's throat was tight when the fingers finally stilled on the keys before withdrawing almost reluctantly; and Chris raised his head, emerging from the depths of his own dream, looking lost, echoes of the last notes trailing in the room; then rose and came back to his seat, loud applause breaking out. 

One hour later, back to his hotel, Chris called.

"Never again," he said.  
"You did great."  
"Yeah? Well don't expect much more, this was the first and only time I'll do that; when she asked me about prison I could've smacked the bitch."  
The leopard cannot change his spots for long, Toby thought.  
"You said the perfect things about those rumours; really, you moved me."  
"Did I? Did you touch yourself?"  
Toby breathed and shook his head.  
"No, you didn't move me *that* way. But playing Chopin caught everyone off guard, and what you said about going to a church to pray when you left the studio last month… I almost believed it," Toby said, playing with the fringes of a cushion, smiling.

A short laugh and Chris' mocking voice.

"Really? Well that and the stuff about love were the only things that weren't lies."

Toby straightened on the couch, stunned. "You're joking, right? About the church, I mean."  
"No, I did just that, go to a church like when I was a kid and hoped that some holy spirit would show me the way, hope for a miracle and prayed; but that church was fucking empty. I mean, no god there, but I had no other place to go, no other place where I wanted to go."

Toby felt embarrassed and stupid, he kept silence and Chris continued.

"No more interview, no more public appearance, you'll deal with all that alone, Toby; I'm leaving."  
"Leaving? Where are you going?"  
"I don't know yet. I'll call you."

And Chris hung up. Shit.

A week later, his files ready, Toby took a flight to New York for a first meeting with the lawyers of the record company and discuss Chris Keller's dismissal. At the same moment, Chris left New York for Minneapolis.

At the airport Chris took a cab to Bonnie's new house, the one he'd bought for her; settled down in the spare room and threw himself on the bed; Bonnie wasn't there, but he had a key; she didn't mind him coming, she knew he had no home anywhere and sometimes he got bored with hotel rooms, he needed something that looked like a place where people really lived. His old piano, the one he'd bought with the money of his first concert waited for him in the basement. A cellar at Toby's place, a basement here; did that mean something?

Jesus, he hoped Toby would succeed because he wouldn't pretend much longer, pretend to be sane and cool; he felt craziness simmer much too near; the old hunger was back again.

No. He wouldn't give in; he was done with the danger and the hunt and the fear, and drugs and all the things that had tainted his life. 

Finally he played all evening and part of the night, went to bed exhausted and jerked off between the sheets. 

He fell asleep late, but at 5 am, the phone rang.

Toby had waited as long as he could but he had a meeting with the people from the company at 8 and he needed an answer. 

He'd spent the whole night pondering the arrangement he'd been offered. His reluctance to just agree, his stubbornness had taken his adversaries aback; sitting in a huge office in the Company's building, he'd been lectured about the opportunity they were offering Chris Keller –just two more record and just a very low amount of damages; he'd better seize the offer while it was still on the table. He kept thinking about it a lot, read Chris' file again, the contract again and called.

"Do you fucking know what time it is?"  
"Sorry. They made an offer."

Chris Keller stretched, sat on the bed, his mind still dizzy with sleep.  
"A good one?"  
"Kind of offer any good lawyer would accept without hesitation."  
"And what about you?"  
"It's not about me. Do you want to hear it?"  
"Yeah, spill."

Chris listened and cut Toby off in the middle of his speech.  
"Ok, what's wrong?"  
"They want you to finish the session and record two albums. Chopin and…"  
"No. No way; we had an agreement, Toby."  
"I know; that's why I didn't give them any answer. On the other hand I don't know what I can get if I tell them no. We don't have much room for manoeuvring."  
"I could commit suicide."  
"Please, be serious."  
"I am deadly serious."

Toby sighed. "Don't, Chris. You didn't pay me yet. OK, let's try something else. What do you want? Give me some clues; you're not here but I want to be able to say yes or no immediately, leave them no time to think."  
Chris rose, walked to the window, watched the garden slowly fading from summer to autumn in a grey dawn.  
"I don't give a damn about money. I wanna be free, Toby. I have to."  
"Ok, listen, being free and unable to pay any rent might be a little too much; they'd love to ruin you."  
"Yeah, I guess they would. Listen, I want you to fight for the sheer pleasure of fighting; I know and you know that's the reason why you accepted to defend me; you got balls, and nerves, Toby; show those pricks, show them, I want them to pay for 14 years of slavery, for contracts I signed without reading, for all the times did things I didn't want to do, played things I didn't want to play… Those years are over, I need a fresh start, leave everything behind, do you understand what I'm saying?"

The silence lasted for a whole minute.

"Toby?"  
"Yeah, I'm still here, just thinking about something… How far… How far are you really ready to go?"  
"I told you."  
"You scare me."  
Chris laughed, "Come on, Toby, you know better."

But Toby didn't laugh and Chris could picture him sitting at a desk in some hotel room, his fingers rubbing his forehead, frowning in concentration.

"You can do better than that, Toby."  
"I'm going to be a very expensive lawyer."  
"If I'm ruined, I'll have to pay you with music and sex."  
"Very tempting; OK, I'll try. Whatever I think is good, I take; the only limit is, you don't want to have anything to do with them."  
"You got it, baby."  
"No."  
"What?"  
"We agreed on that."  
"Ah, OK, you're no fun, Toby."  
"No. When I work, I'm no fun at all. Hey, go back to bed; I'll call again."

He did. Two days later, he did.

"I got your agreement, Keller," Toby said, hoping his smile could be heard.  
"Yeah? What did you get?"  
"You're free; and still got plenty of money. The only thing missing is your signature at the bottom of the papers. Hurry up before they change their mind."

There was a long silence and Chris' voice, shaky.

"How did you do that?"  
"Ah, I remembered something you said, once, about you being lazy, and that you'd let anyone sign your contracts… On one of them, the last one, the signature was different, I bluffed; said that second woman you'd married and who worked for them…"  
"Kitty"  
"Yes, Kitty; had faked your signature. I told them she'd agreed to testify; by the way, how could you ever accept such financial conditions? It didn't occur to me when I met you that you loved being fucked so much."

He could hear the gears turning in Chris' head. "You lied."  
"Did I? Your Kitty said she'd signed it."  
"Come on, she didn't."  
"Well, I don't give a damn about that, on the phone she told them she did, she wrote it in a letter and the signature *did* look different. After that, things went smoothly."

There was a smile and some amusement in Chris' voice when he said, "You son of a bitch."  
"Yeah, but you're free. And I kept Kitty's letter, by the way, I'll give it to you later, do with it what you want; you're a lucky guy, Chris, your women would do anything for you. Now hurry up."

The emaciated unshaven Chris who signed the papers looked crazy, his hands badly shaking; maybe, the guys from the company thought, maybe after all it was a good thing to get rid of him. He didn't say a single word and when they held out their hands, Chris just shrugged and turned away, leaving Toby alone to soothe the mood.

Three hours later they were sitting face to face in the bar of Toby's hotel.

"Let's get drunk and fuck like rabbits," Toby said, "in honour of your recovered freedom."  
"Booze and sex, they don't get along well."

Toby swallowed his second Vodka Martini. "Doesn't matter; I intend to let you do all the work, tonight; I deserve it."  
Chris laughed, and serious again, asked, "Why do you like to drink that much?"  
"I don't know; I feel good when I'm drunk; I feel different; bolder, sexier, smarter…"

Chris brushed his fingertips against Toby's wrist.  
"You look bold and sexy enough to me, baby."  
"Yeah, call me baby tonight, makes me all hot."  
Something passed in Chris' eyes, a shadow, then he laughed.  
"One more and you stop."  
"Two more; three's nothing."

After that Toby didn't remember much, he'd drunk, they'd laughed, he'd described the way he'd lured their enemies in the trap he'd prepared and how Kitty had helped, "you should pay her, and fuck her too, just to thank her."

His fourth drink barely finished, he was dragged out of the bar, into the elevator, Chris' thigh grinding against his crotch, his tongue deep into Toby's mouth, and he'd pulled him closer and whispered.  
"Please, make me forget that my life's such a mess; you're my first real success in years."

But later, as he was lying naked on the bed, waves of exhaustion washed all over him; Chris' fingers on his skin, hot and skilful, didn't bring the expected madness.  
"I think maybe I'd better give up," he said, ashamed and Chris laughed; "you know," he said, "sometimes it just doesn't work; and I'd told you that alcohol and sex didn't go along fine."  
He kissed Toby and rose.  
"I'm sorry," Toby said, and yawned, stretching, blue eyes roaming all over him, smiling.  
"Don't be, there's nothing to apologize about, really; you're tired, I should've remembered you'd spent too much time working."  
Toby closed his eyes. "Spend the night, please."  
And Chris did, undressed and wrapped Toby in a warm embrace, his skin softer than silk, his body harder than steel, his breath tickling Toby's neck.

"What are you going to do, now?"  
"Take a break, I guess, maybe leave for some months, travel; then I'll buy a place to live, and think about working again."

Toby's eyelids were heavy, his body went limp; Chris amused laugh was the last thing he heard before drowning in sleep; when he woke up in the morning he was alone, not even a note on the table, but the sheets smelled of Chris. When he left, in the afternoon, elated with triumph and another sensation he couldn't quite put a name on, the stiff desk clerk just said; "Your room's been paid by a man who left this."

A simple note, Chris' stark writing on it, saying, "Thank you."

Tbc……….  



	5. Venice

**********

A young man about 30 dressed in casual clothes, long hair tied with a black ribbon, leather jacket and fancy shoes, came up to Chris in the waiting room of the airport, confident and smug.

"You're Christopher Keller, aren't you?"  
"Oh, am I?" Chris said, looking bored.  
"You're Christopher Keller. I'm Giovanni Aspetto, I'm a journalist, I work for a music magazine…"

Again.

"Yeah? I'm so happy for you."

The guy smiled, patient. "May I offer you a drink?"

"May I fuck you?"

Chris' dark gaze caught stunned brown eyes and didn't let go; he rose slowly and took a step forward, forcing the other man to step back.

"Because it's the only thing I can think of right now."

The journalist wore a wedding ring; Chris laughed at his horrified expression and sat back.

"Get the fuck away from me; I don't talk to your kind anymore."

That happened much too often, Chris thought; Bonnie had received hundreds of letters, and e-mails asking what was going on, and would the Maestro play again, and where was he, and was that true that he'd hit a journalist who'd asked the wrong question; he knew that a lot of people were considering him as finished, but even after 6 months of wandering, he didn't feel like taking back his old life, not yet. He kept practicing as often as possible; without a daily work, those hands he'd been so proud of would lose their skill; the thought scared him sometimes. But after all, what the fuck? What did he bring to people, anyway? He had enough money to live a long life without worrying, why bother with work and a period of his life that was over?

He arrived at the Gritti Palace in Venice at nightfall. The old palazzo was shrouded in a cold mist, the halos of the torches in front of the entry shivering in the wind, ghostly lights surrounding him, the blurry shadow of a town; he stood there for a moment, enthralled by the sight and when he walked into the marble hall, it was like entering heaven, soft golden lights, comfortable couches, white and brown marbled floor, Bach playing softly. 

His room was ready, he felt tired, so he asked for dinner there and spent some time at the window; snow had been falling all day, lazy flakes landing on his hands, dissolving in the dark water of the canal below; he stood there for a moment trying to make out the massive shape of the basilica less than a mile in front of him, but night and fog were now concealing everything; so he went back to bed. 

Early in the morning he walked north to the Ghetto, walking up the narrow streets between the old buildings that had sheltered the Jewish community for centuries, losing himself in the maze of lanes still asleep under a thin blanket of sparkling snow, marvelling at the sight of such beauty, whistling his favourite melodies –Bach's Goldberg variations sounded appropriate, he thought, crossing a little bridge; that would be the next thing he'd play -if he ever played again. He walked further north until he reached the end of the peninsula, cheap modern houses, and cargos cruising in front of him –the unseen side of Venice, no tourists there, just kids playing ball and the wind blowing, snow swirling around him; he loved it, loved the snow and the shadowed streets sun seldom reached; he walked back, unhurried in spite of the cold, reached the palazzo around twelve, starving, had a quick lunch and went to his room, leaned against the window again to fill his mind with the sight of the city. 

Still water reflected the ceaseless dance of clouds above, but a vaporetto came roaring, stopped some yards further, the gloomy water now troubled and choppy, small waves dancing along the terrace; he watched the busy people, students, clerks, tourists, walking out of the boat. One of the men wore a long black overcoat, Chris noticed curled wet blond hair, and something in the way he walked reminded him of Toby. Mmmmm, yes, Toby. Same hair, same stride, same strange charm; and suddenly the idea of calling Toby, for no real reason, just hear his voice, dragged him away from where he was standing to the phone beside the bed. 

"Hey!"  
"Chris? Where the fuck are you?"

Chris smiled.  
"Venice. Did I wake you up?"  
"No. No, I was just… Venice? Wow! How's the weather?"  
"Cold. A lot of snow."  
"I see."

An easy silence filled with Toby's quiet breathing.  
"Are you coming back soon?"  
"Probably next week, I'll be in NY, will you join me there?"  
"I don't know, I work a lot but yes, I'll try. Where in Venice are you staying?"  
"At the Gritti's"  
"Happy man."  
"Alone."  
"Oh. Tired of one night stands?"  
"Not really; it's just good to have some time alone."  
"I see. Listen, call me back when you're here, OK?"

Venice in winter; the choice was surprising, Toby thought after hanging up, and unexpected. What can a lonely man do in Venice? 

It was the first question he asked when they met again.

"I wanted to see the Fenice, you know, it's been reduced to ashes some years ago; I'm so glad that they plan to reopen it next year; it was like some pilgrimage to me; I'd dream to play there, there are some places like that, some magic places where any musician would want to play before dying. And I walked a lot, the fog, the snow, the deserted streets; and San Marco square, nearly empty; it was wonderful. I met a Venetian Countess who invited me to play on an old piano she'd inherited from her grand father and the legend says that Stravinsky had played on it; wonderful sound, she lived alone in one of those half-crumbling palaces on a canal, had her own boat, it was… Am I boring you?"

They were sitting face to face in the restaurant of the Rihga Royal Hotel in New York, surrounded by bunches made of white wild and precious flowers, mirrors on the walls, isolated in a quiet corner, soft music playing, delicious food.

"No, you're not," Toby said, smiling, "Where else have you been?"  
"Roma, Venice, and before that Istanbul, London, Paris, Barcelona; La Paz, Mexico, Cairo…"  
"A very eclectic choice."

Chris looked down, smiling wistfully; he was dressed in black as usual; he'd grown a short dark beard; his eyes were clear and shining as sapphire; he looked younger. Happier?

"When I was a kid," he said, "I wanted to travel a lot, and I'd chosen the places where I wanted to go; seen beautiful pictures, heard about it on TV or just loved the sound of the name. I never had time to realize my dreams before."

In his mind Toby pictured a lonely dark haired, blue eyed boy, dreaming of exotic places, exotic names and tenderness overwhelmed him; he held out his hand, cupped Chris' cheek, the soft dark beard tickling his skin and Chris turned his head to kiss the warm palm, feeling it tremble against his lips, warm fingertips brushing along his jaw.

"I don't think I can wait until dessert," Toby said.  
"We don't have to; we'll ask to be served in my room. Come on, let's go."

They kissed in the elevator, a long devouring kiss, Chris' fingers locked behind Toby's neck, and stumbled together into the room.

The suite was huge, a living room separated from the bedroom by French glassed doors, thick beige carpet, huge windows half hidden behind heavy dark curtains, mahogany desk and the bed, covered with a grey quilt.

They fell down on it, lips still sealed, hands busy undressing each other, until they were naked, flooded with raw desire and Chris bit Toby's mouth hard, his throat, his neck, his shoulders until the other man was writhing in delight under his body.

"I go first," Chris said, licking Toby's cock, his teeth grazing along it, spreading the trembling thighs wide and licking further down until he'd reached his goal, until Toby was so ready he could've come there and then under those maddening caresses, until Chris thrust hard once and stilled, buried deep inside Toby, purring.

It was a long fuck, long and hard and merciless, Chris' new grown beard grazing Toby's skin, sending helpless shivers down his spine, Toby roaring as he came.

"Fuck, it's good."

They devoured the rest of their meal, brought in the room on a wheel cart by a young waitress and Toby wondered if Chris would try to drag her into their games but he just smiled, his gaze roaming over the girl's slim frame and coming back to Toby, hungry.

They showered; long hot shower, Chris licking the water on Toby's skin, Toby teasing the hardening cock with his soapy hand; landed on the couch and fucked again, ate some more, drank coffee.

"A shame we don’t have any stuff," Chris said.  
"Or a drink," Toby added, his eyes closed.  
"No way, Toby, I don't want you to fall asleep on me like last time."

They opened the bed and snaked between fresh linen sheets, stretched out side by side. Toby turned over to lie on his side and kissed the offered spot above Chris' collarbone, tasting salt and Chris' warm skin.

"I'm going to marry Katherine McClain."  
"What? What the fuck do you…"

Toby sighed, leaned back, closing his eyes, heard Chris shift, his shadow hanging over him.  
"Do you love her? I'd missed that part."  
"I think I do."  
"Wow! This does sound fucking passionate. Why do you marry her? To feel a little less lonely? Give a mother to your kids?"  
"They already have one."  
"Come on, stop bullshitting me," Chris said, a twinge of anger in his voice, "what is this all about?"

Toby opened his eyes and looked at the face near his own, the beard that made Chris look… different, the piercing blue eyes, the hard mouth; and inside a shrewd mind that made him feel more naked than he already was.

"Maybe it's about loneliness."  
"It doesn't work, Toby; believe me it doesn't." 

An arm snaked around his shoulders and he was dragged closer, Chris' mouth against his ear.  
"We are born alone, all of us; we live alone and die alone; all we can hope for is to find someone along the way who'll walk part of the way with us, a mate, a friend, sometimes both; but nothing lasts; and from what I know the only good reason to get married is love. Nothing else. And you don't love her."  
"How do you know?"  
"You wouldn't be there."  
"Oh, that's it, then. Fucking you suffices to prove that I don't love her. Tell me, were you true to your wives, Mr Right?"  
"As long as I was married, I was. Then it was over."  
"I can't believe it; I was never true to Gen, not even in the beginning."  
"Then you didn't love her."

Toby knew that, had been knowing that from the beginning but had closed his mind and heart to the disturbing truth; and he'd known that giving up his ambitions because, as his father said, he wasn't tough enough to work among the sharks was a mistake; and now of course it was too late; but he didn't want to think about that now.  


They dozed off for a while and then Chris wanted to play piano, couldn't wait; Toby saw something else than sheer whim in the darkened gaze; he saw anguish, and something unknown that demanded a release as urgent as sex, so he called the desk and explained that Mr Keller was sleepless and wished to play; would they be able to satisfy his request? They were of course, although it was past midnight, and the two men, dishevelled and barely dressed were guided by a very dignified clerk to a salon, with dark green velvet seats and a carpet thicker than the bedroom's one, and a piano, not the upright Steinway of Toby's cellar, something much more sophisticated which sight lit a smile on Chris' face. Toby thanked the clerk, gave him a generous tip and waited until he was gone to close the door. Chris sat down on the leathered stool in front of the piano and stayed still for a moment.

Toby chose a chair near enough, silent, watching; and Chris began to play, cascades of notes released by his dancing fingers from their black shining prison fluttering about the room, then fading away, replaced by others.

Strange how playing piano seemed to be such an effort, hard muscles tensing Chris' skin, his face haunted and dark whereas the music sounded light and easy.

"You can talk to me," Chris said after a while, choosing a slower piece, glancing at Toby.

"Don't you think it's time to find a new record company and start working again?"  
"I am working; this is work to me."  
"Yes, I know. But don't you miss doing this for a larger audience?"

Chris smiled briefly and the music changed, the sound deepened, the mood turned to something more intense, more tragic.  
"I am selfish; I don't need any audience."  
"I don't like the idea of wasting such a gift; if you died, there would be nothing left of what I'm listening."

Virtuosity again, easy and mocking; then the soul simmering so near Toby could've cried.

"I won't die," Chris said, and chuckled. "That's what you think, uh? Think *you* wasted your own talents? Blame your dad and your wife for that?"  
Toby suppressed words of annoyance, shrugged.  
"I used to; now I mainly blame myself."  
"Blaming yourself is useless, you'd better try to follow your own advice and stop giving me any; time to take back this life you've been dreaming of, baby."

Toby smiled; the way Chris called him baby had something mocking and distant he liked.

"Yeah? And how?"  
"Don't marry the bitch. You showed me a picture once, she's a tidy psycho rigid bitch; believe me, I had a lot of those; she'll try to change you, turn you into someone better, someone who's not you; that's what they all do; bitches always want the perfect man, drive you crazy..."

Strange, Toby thought, the contrast between the harsh words and the music that went on flowing, wistful and heartrending; and when he began to play the Chopin's nocturne he'd played for Lea Winsley on TV 6 months ago, Toby's throat tightened and tears dwelled in his eyes – and Chris sensed his emotion even without looking at him; he continued with a stern and beautiful interpretation of Bach, something Toby couldn't identify; but when the music stopped he didn't move, frozen and Chris laughed.

"Come on!" he said, and rose, grabbed Toby's arm, fingers bruising the flesh, dragging him out of the room and up into the stairs, pushing him in a dark corner near a locked door at the end of a corridor.

"I can't have enough of you," he said, pressing Toby flat against the wall, biting the nape of his neck, his cock grinding against Toby's ass, his naked chest pressed against Toby's back, his hands snaking underneath the rumpled shirt, stroking, grazing, lower, yanking the pants down impatiently, roaring against his ear, "come on, come on, take it off, I wanna be inside you."

And the mere sound of his voice lit a blazing fire in Toby's groin.

Breathless, he turned his head to look at Chris, hard gaze, tight mouth, something merciless that should've frightened him; then two slick fingers penetrated him hard, pushing him against the wall, his mouth open against the silky wallpaper –already moaning.

"You little bitch, you like it," Chris growled and grabbing Toby's hips pulled him closer and entered him; same single hard thrust that made little painful delightful stars explode behind Toby's eyelids.

"Oh Jesus," he said, barely a whisper, but Chris chuckled, grabbed a handful of messy hair and began thrusting, hard, his breath more and more laboured sounding like thunder in the total silence of the place; thrusting so deep that Toby sobbed; the pain, the pleasure, the desire, mixing to send him higher and higher, aware of being claimed and possessed in the most primal way until he couldn't help and threw his head back, the nape of his neck hitting Chris' shoulder, and moaned loud, trying to get some air, some room to breathe, some relief, angry all of a sudden, and it was his turn to demand, "come on, come on, now, I can't wait, please, please, please," and in his ear a cold laugh; "you can take more, I know you can, wait for me, wait, wait wait," their voices entangled like a choral, soft and low, ceaselessly encouraging, teasing, soothing until it was impossible for any of them to hold back and Chris pushed hard, a last time, his hand wrapped against Toby's cock; pulling Toby back when he felt him coming, semen spurting out against the wall, down on the floor, Chris laughing as he came inside Toby, hard.

Next thing Toby remembered was being trailed along the corridor and pushed to the bed; they fell asleep still wet and exhausted; sleep overcame them and dawn creeping through the heavy dark curtains just drew a sigh from Chris who wrapped Toby in his arms tighter, caught in a warm and drowsy feeling.

Toby moved in the embrace and sighed.  
"That was good."  
"Yeah. I like sex with you."

Chris closed his eyes, smiling, his hand searching for Toby's cock, nimble fingers locking around it while Toby buried his face closer into Chris' neck; Chris thumb teasing the slit, Toby's sleepy body arching against his own, offered.

"Don't tempt me; I'm not ready to go again; not yet," he said.  
"I wonder what they thought of the mess me made in the corridor."  
"I guess they're used to that kind of things."  
"What if they have video tapes there?"

Chris laughed, "Aw, guess they'll have a good time, then, come on, it was too dark to see much. Does that bother you? Would it bother you if someone learnt about us? The sex?"

Toby frowned, tried to think about it, and gave up, unwilling to dwell on the subject, uncomfortable, suddenly.

"I guess your little woman wouldn't like that; I guess she doesn't get off with men or women in five-star hotels."  
"Fuck you!"  
"And what do you intend to tell her when you're married, about smelling of me all over, and going to places where you got nothing to do? Or does that mean…"

The swift fingers deserted his cock, snaked lower, teased the slick opening.

"Does that mean we're done? Are we done, baby?"

Toby moaned when the fingers invaded him, he was sore and tired but it was… He didn't know how it was, he just wanted it to last more and more, and he thrust back against them, just to feel the delicious feeling again and again, listening to Chris' voice.

"I guess I got my answer."

He wanted Toby to fuck him, hard, but Toby didn't agree; there was something about Chris that asked for a lot of consideration; fucking him was like manipulating some precious object or maybe some very dangerous animal and any inconsiderate move was likely to cause a devastating reaction, so he was sweet and slow and mindful and Chris purred like a cat and came all over the sheets, shaking like a leaf, but always silent, holding back the words that often burst out from a lover's lips, but let Toby wrap him in a comforting embrace.

"Are you sure you like it," he asked, "you look frightened when I fuck you."

But Chris' eyes were closed; he was asleep and Toby didn't feel like waking him up.

When Toby was dressing, ready to leave, later in the afternoon, Chris held out a big brown envelop, and said, "For you."  
"What is it?"  
"Oh, stuff. Bank accounts, things like that; wherever I go, I'm not sure I can keep an eye on all that; would you do that for me, please? Call me from times to time to tell me if I'd better choose lowly hotels rather than the Gritti, you know, and if I have to come back to work and make some money?"

Toby felt anger simmering, and bitterness; would he learn someday?

"It's always like that, isn't it? You fuck me silly for two days and then… You don't have to do that to get what you want from me, you know, asking is enough; you can skip the fucking part, I know I'm not the hottest guy in the world."

He caught the expression on Chris' face, disarray, shyness maybe; he was looking uncomfortable and sorry. 

"It's not about that, fuck you and your paranoid mind! The truth is that I trust you, and your skills; I'll pay you for the job."  
"Stop that!"  
"I meant to tell you yesterday during dinner but it didn't go quite like I'd planned."

Half-naked in the middle of a hotel room, rumpled sheets and clothes discarded on the floor wasn't the best situation to make a scene, Toby thought; he could still smell Chris on his fingers, feel his warmth inside him, and he was too old, too tired, suddenly, for a fight.

"I think everything's in it; I'm not very good at that, you know, money, legal stuff; I will hire you as my attorney if you want to; it doesn't matter to me; I just wanna make sure my life's in trustful hands."

Toby nodded. They showered together, silent.

"I'm not trying to buy you; you *are* hot, Toby, and I'd have sex with you anyway," Chris said roughly as they were kissing good-bye in their room "Do you believe me?"  
"Yeah. No. I don't know, I don't really care; I like sex with you too, let's drop it."  
They kissed again, crushed against each other, insatiable endless kiss; Toby broke it first and stepped back.

"Where will you go, now?" he asked, a little breathless.  
"I don’t know. Maybe back to Italy, maybe not. I'd love a trip to Africa, see a real lion; it's an old dream; when I was a little kid, we had a picture of a big lion in the common room at the orphanage; I often dreamed of it."  
"Don't get hurt, or anything."  
"Don't worry."

Later they were standing face to face outside the hotel in the freezing cold, waiting for the taxi that would take Toby back to the airport.

"I wrote my phone number inside the envelope. Please, call me from time to time," Chris said.

Then the taxi was there; time to part.

"See ya, Toby."  
"Yeah. Take care."

He was gone before the cab left; Toby rested his head against the leather seat and sighed. Then he pulled out his cell phone and called Katherine Mc Clain.

Tbc…  



	6. Down and bleu

Many, many thanks to Velvet-Laura-Autiger for her wonderful feedback –I needed it. 

****************************

Toby had to sit down. Of all the unexpected events, this one was the most stunning … Shit. Shit, he'd never thought that could happen and he realized suddenly how stupid he'd been; as if he'd not heard enough warnings from Chris' lips.

"So," he said, "you're in love."

Happy laugh far away; his throat tightened.  
"Yeah. You can't mistake it for anything else."  
"I'm… Happy for you. When is the wedding scheduled?"

The laugh turned to something more embarrassed but still happy…  
"It's done, already; you know, we couldn't wait so we took the first flight to Los Angeles and got married three weeks ago; aw, Toby you should see her, she's… She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Insensitive bastard, Toby thought.

"Oh, well, I…" What the hell was he supposed to say? I wish I'd never met you, I wish I'd never believed you, I wish I'd been more careful, I wish you'd both burn in hell, I wish you're never able to use those wonderful hands of yours again?

"I wish you both a lot of happiness," he said.

What else?

"I think I'm gonna pick my life back up from where I left off; find a new record company, play again, work again; now I got a goal again, everything has a new meaning; maybe we'll have kids…"  
"Find a new record company? That's going to be a tough one, the way we fucked the last one over will make the others wary."

Chris was back to professional mode; Toby could guess a frown, hear a sigh.  
"Yeah, I know that. I thought maybe… Listen, we should talk about that; what about taking up an extra job?"

Here we are, Toby thought, and this time, no fucking me senseless to drag me in.

"Extra job? Like?"  
"Like being my agent."

Toby sat down.  
"Your agent? You're joking, right?"  
"Listen, you didn't sound that enthusiastic about your job last time we met."  
"Oh? I don't remember having any coherent conversation back then," Toby said.

Chris laughed; he was obviously floating on his own little happy cloud; nothing would reach him.

"Right; but anyway… what I have to offer is much more pleasant and much more … adventurous? You need adventure, don't you? And it's a part time job, you don't have to leave Daddy's practice; meet new people;"

There was a slight calculated pause.

"We can be together a lot."

Don't you fucking dare!

"We've *never* been together, Chris," Toby said, his voice hard, "so let's stay on a professional ground, drop the rest –it was good for me; I hope it was good for you."

Strange, Toby thought, how a long professional training makes you able to play your part while you're wiping tears off you face.  
"Tell me what you want."

He listened to a different Chris Keller, a smart, determined and wise man who *knew* exactly what he wanted and how; he'd had time, Toby thought, to make it up, all of it, during 8 months or wandering –or 7 of wandering and one month of sheer passion with that woman –whoever she was.

He didn't agree, not at once; said he didn't have much time, that his own wedding with Katherine McClain was approaching and that Chris would have to wait for a month at least. Chris didn't say anything about Toby's wedding; he intended to spend a whole month at least enjoying holidays with his wife, take her to Venice, Rome. They agreed on a professional appointment in the office of the Beecher practice in New-York, a month later at noon; and Toby hung up, his hand shaking.

So… It was love, this pain, this piercing pain that made breathing difficult, that crushed his breast, that pulled him down to the floor until he was curled up against the wall, limp body racked with sobs; pain and fear, fear that the pain would never stop and as he went through all the people and things that filled his life –his kids, his job, his friends, Katherine, he felt nothing but sickness and pain. 

What was the use of being so smart and witty and sharp if it didn't make him able to acknowledge his own feelings soon enough to run away? He was supposed to fuck with other people's mind and he'd been played by someone tougher, stronger, smarter; that one hadn't been to Harvard, hadn't needed to; talented hands, piercing blue eyes, a devastating smile, and sex as a weapon and a shield had been enough.

He didn't go to work, got drunk instead, and when he surfaced again the pain was still there, nestled in the depths of his body, in his heart, his belly, his mind aching with it. He felt stupid and worthless, and grief was washing over him in restless waves; panic threatened to overwhelm him. Uncaring of the hour, he called Neill and Neill came and sat on the couch in front of Toby, dressed in his classy pearl grey suit, caressing his trimmed beard, dark eyes fixed on Toby's devastated silhouette.

"So you fucked a guy; just tell me it wasn't the kind of stupid unprotected sex you used to practice long ago."

It was; Toby buried his face in his hands.

"OK, so, that's why you called Katherine Mc Clain and told her that you needed time, that your divorce had left scars that were difficult to heal and all this psychological bullshit?"  
"How do you know?"  
"What do you think? She's my friend too, and she too needed a sympathetic ear; wanted to hear some comforting words, just like you, my friend. Except she got it, and you won't."

Toby spread his arms wide.  
"Why?"  
"Because I don't like the way you behave; I don't like the way you kick everything and everyone away and throw yourself head first in a disaster. You betrayed Katherine exactly like you betrayed Gen; they meant nothing to you as soon as you'd found someone more exciting. So don't come complaining now that you're left alone because my dear, you deserve it."

In the long silence that followed, Toby could hear his own loud breathing and his own blood rushing through his ears, pulsing in his brain; Neill left without a single word.

A week later Toby read a magazine in the waiting room of his office; Chris Keller and his new wife's picture in it like a knife plunging straight into his heart. They looked happy, Chris' bright delighted smile spoke volumes; Toby barely noticed the woman, she was about his age, a little slim short brown-haired ordinary person, he thought. He didn't want to dwell on that, didn't want her face to wake him up at night and the sight of such a genuine happiness to haunt him; he put the magazine back down and went to his desk to work.

In the end he called Katherine and told her he'd made up his mind and he wanted to marry her. He hoped he sounded enthusiastic enough, probably did. She began talking about all that was left to do; he understood that she would go for something traditional and expensive, and it pleased him; he wanted to bury Chris Keller's memory under a lot of ribbons, false laughs, gold, satin and velvet, and after that take back his old reasonable life. He would've married her immediatly but now it was Katherine's turn to ask for a delay in order to organize the perfect ceremony and it looked like he wouldn't be done with that before the beginning of July. 

"I think that a honeymoon in Venice… We deserve some romantic time together, don't we?"

He said no, not Venice, anywhere but there; he couldn't stand the mere idea of that. She looked disappointed, but didn't fight on that. They'd go somewhere else; Toby guessed she was excited at the idea of going through dozens of travel catalogues to find the right destination. 

Weeks went by; he drowned himself in alcohol and work but the hours between dawn and sunset still seemed to stretch endlessly, leaving him in a state of numb boredom at best, dark depression at worst; he didn't even think anymore, just clenched to life like a wounded animal. He couldn't believe it was just about love. Love couldn't cause so much pain, there had to be something else, something deeper inside that had been awakened by Chris' betrayal. What betrayal? No promise had ever been made, and the situation had been clear from the very beginning; just sex, and business; no love. But how do you resist love when you don't even feel it gripping your heart, not until it's too late?

Finally it was the middle of May and he knew he wouldn't make it to the appointment with Chris Keller –the day he should've gone to New York, he got drunk and locked himself inside the house.

Chris waited for three hours, three fucking hours sitting on a leather couch in an impersonal office; fed with coffee and whatever he wanted. The secretary looked more and more uncomfortable as time went by. She'd tried to call Toby but got no answer, and now Chris was beginning to worry. He went through magazines, read a very harsh report about the private concert he'd given to celebrate his wedding; the genius was gone from his music, the journalist said, and although Chris knew it was the truth, he'd been bad, he felt angry, couldn't take it any longer, rose, grabbed his jacket and left without a word, cold rage overwhelming the initial concern.

In the taxi that took him to the airport, he closed his eyes and tried to find some peace of mind. He'd believed, this time. He'd believed that this wedding was the perfect one and Susan the perfect woman, would make him feel what he wanted to feel –peace and security. He'd trusted her on that; she was pretty, sexy, inventive, smart, educated; she loved sex. She was like a candy it would take a whole life to savour. 

He'd been right, mostly; Susan was great; she knew nothing about the music he played, but was eager to learn; she listened to him faithfully, her hands crossed between her knees, frowning in concentration. She had moderate opinions about people and things, didn't get angry easily. She didn't want any kids, which was fine to him and there was nothing she liked more than a good walk in the country that made her cheeks red and her eyes shining, her laugh bouncing in the air; she was a talented painter and would have a career of her own; she was also vulnerable and tender…

Perfect. And still something was missing. He loved her; he knew he did; but… 

He spent a long time at the airport, hesitating; and finally the flight he boarded wasn't the one that would've taken him back home. In the plane he let his frustration grow, kept his gaze on the clouds outside, his jaw clenched so hard he could feel the pain. Later he rented a car and drove to Toby's house.

Toby heard the noise, something pounding on his door dragged him out of his drunken stupor and he managed to sway downstairs, swearing, fighting a relentless headache; hands trembling as he opened the door, leaned against the wooden pane and saw Chris' strong frame standing in the misty light of dawn, bloodshot eyes matching his own, unshaven like him, tight lips, hard gaze –upset.

"Why didn't you come?" Chris said, his voice strained, oozing anger.  
"Because I didn't want to. Why don't you ask your wife to do the job, why do you need *me*?"  
"She's my wife, not my fucking secretary!"

All the strength Toby had left, all the pain he felt exploded in the blow; his fist crashed against Chris' face and blood spurted from a hurt nose and a cut lip with surprising strength, running down Chris' chin, his sweater, his shirt. It took him a moment to realize and he hit back, hard; pushed a stumbling Toby inside the house and closed the door.

"You motherfucker! you fucking let me down!"

They faced each other for a moment, panting, both bloody, scruffy, their hands clenched in fists, like bulls ready to fight. Toby stepped back first, looking for some way out until he was trapped; Chris grabbed his wrists and slammed them hard against the wall above Toby's head.

"You let me down," he said.  
"Listen I think we should…"  
"You-let-me-fucking-down, didn't keep the appointment we'd made. Just fucking tell me why!"

Toby closed his eyes and let his throbbing head fall down –as any good predator would, Chris understood the meaning of the gesture and the painful grip on Toby's wrist loosened.

Their breathing calmed down. They went to the kitchen, washed their faces silently, wiping away the blood and the anger. Chris looked exhausted suddenly.

"Listen," Toby said, "you get some sleep and then we talk that through."  
A wary look roamed over his face.  
"Yeah? Will you talk about it?"  
"Yes. Come on now; I have a room…"  
"I can sleep upstairs, in the attic."

He woke up in the morning, later, looked around, lost. He saw Toby sitting on a chair, near the bed; half naked, hair wet; he'd showered, smelled of soap and Cologne. Chris held out a hand and touched cool shivering skin, the room was cold, rain pouring outside, a strong wind swirling around. What kind of a fucking weather was that for the first day of June?

"Come on, come in here with me!" he said, throwing back the covers. Toby hesitated and finally moved, slipped between the sheets, surrounded by Chris' smell, hot skin against his own, warm breath against his neck, the feather light touch of long fingers along his face. He heard a satisfied sigh and shifted, looking for the right position.

Chris chuckled.

"In one of those families where I lived as a kid there was a cat; he decided he liked me; he used to do the same thing. Except you're bigger."

Just before falling asleep Toby stretched against Chris, yawning, and a memory surfaced from long ago; the way he used to sneak into his parents' bed in the middle of the night and sleep there, buried in the warmth and smell of their familiar bodies, leaning against his father's heavy bulk, his strength comforting the shy little boy he was at the time, wondering if he'd ever be that strong, that impressive, sure he wouldn't. The same sensation so many years later as he pressed his body against another one. 

They slept through the day nestled against each other and Chris woke up first, lips swollen, nose aching, his heart beating slow against Toby's chest, his arms around the other man's waist. He stretched and Toby shifted, opened his eyes and looked around.

"Jesus fucking Christ… What time is it?"  
"Don't know. End of the afternoon, I guess; d'ya have to go somewhere?"  
"No; I don't have the kids this week."

Merciless, Chris' hand slid down, brushed against Toby's cock.  
"Wanna get laid, baby?"  
"Please, don't play this game."

Chris turned over and rose, looming over Toby, his thumb brushing against the soft skin of his lips, forcing them open and entering the wet mouth.

"Do you think it's a game? Do you know how I felt when you didn't show up, yesterday? Do you fucking know how I felt?"

The thumb withdrew and Chris' lips crushed the wet mouth, hard and demanding kiss.

"You bastard," he said, barely letting go to get his breath back "you'd better have a very good reason."  
"Or?"  
"Or I'm gonna fuck you silly until you beg me to stop."

The thumb brushed against Toby's lips again, slid up his jaw, his cheek, and they kissed again.

"What about being true to your wife?"  
"I'm true. I love Susan like crazy, she's my personal sunshine."

Toby closed his eyes, holding back the tears.

"Yeah? And what does that make me? "  
"That makes you my sparkling evening star."

He was so near, Toby had to turn his head on the side to escape his warm, his heady scent.

"I don't think I can do that."  
"Why? Because you're gonna marry your bitch? What's that, Toby? A pissing contest? I get married so you get married too? Or did you fall in love, finally?"

He was pushed back, hard, and Toby rose, angry, ready for another fight.

"You fucking don't dare talk to me that way or…"

Two arms pulled him back, warm mouth kissing away the anger.  
"Hey come on, come on, it's OK, I didn't mean to insult you; what I mean is, if you marry her, when am I gonna see you?"

Sheer astonishment left Toby speechless; he looked Chris deep in the eyes looking for a clue.

"You're asking me… You're asking me not to marry Katherine because it would bother you? Because I wouldn't be as available as I've been until now? Is that it?"

Chris didn't answer, graced him with a secretive smile that said, "I know you."

Go to hell, Toby thought, you don't know the half of it; but the hand on his cheek was caressing and the whisper so soft and soothing.

They fucked, ravenous, Toby asking for more, and more, please, give me more, and sobbing in pleasure, his head thrown back against the pillow, his throat offered to Chris' teeth, his body shaken by Chris' merciless thrusts, strong hands pushing his thighs back to give Chris a better access, allow him to thrust deeper, change the angle, make Toby yell in surprise; bringing him on the very edge of pleasure, and Toby begging, "keep me there, keep me there, please…" before the fall, before he sank and drowned himself in ecstasy, his fingers bruising Chris' arms hard, pushing himself back against the hard cock, sure to be sore for days, wanting to be, and finally lying limp and boneless under Chris' weight, Chris' roar echoing in his ears and his own laugh… Jesus, that was good.

He was so lost he didn't hear the door open, but Chris did, turned his head to watch and growled.

"Wanna join us?"

Toby heard a soft cry of surprise and dismay, felt his body freeze in horror; the door slammed, footsteps echoed down the stairs for a while; Chris gave Toby a crooked smile; "Guess that was your Katherine?"

After that Toby spent the evening curled up on the bed, trying to process what had just happened –Jesus how was he going to get out of this shit, what was he going to tell her?- until Chris got up to sit in front of the piano.

"Did someone play lately? It's not the same score."  
"What? Oh, er… Yes, I'm teaching Holly; she said she wanted to learn so I thought I could teach her; I'd like her to learn something from me, not only from Gen; the kids are with her most of the time so…"  
"Does she like it? Holly? Learning's boring."  
"I stop when she gets bored; but Gen tells me she practices everyday, half an hour without complaining. She's only 7 anyway."

Chris gaze was fixed on Toby's mouth.  
"I'm sure you're a very patient and very good teacher, Toby; I'm sure I would've loved you to teach me."  
That earned him a tired smile.

Chris played, randomly as usual, Bach, some Mozart, a very beautiful Fugue from Cesar Franck and… Debussy, maybe? Music flooded the room; Toby barely caring at first until something changed. He heard something new in the way Chris played, something urgent and naked and powerful, but still balanced and smart and it was something Toby hadn't heard for a very long time. Probably Chris had played that way during the memorable concert at the end of the masterclass, but Toby wasn't there.

"Jesus, I don't think I ever heard anything that beautiful," he said.  
"Yeah?" Chris stopped playing. "The guy who writes for the New York Times said I'd fucking lost my genius, that the music sounded empty."  
He turned to Toby, he was staring.  
"You didn't lose anything, Chris, I know enough to be sure about that."  
Chris smiled, a narrow secret smile that barely reached his eyes.  
"Maybe I'll have to fuck you before every show," he said "maybe it's because of you. Maybe you inspire me."

The blue gaze raked over Toby.  
"Will you work with me, Toby?"

Fuck. Fuck it all, he wanted to.  
"Yes, I will; for a while at least."

Chris nodded, gave Toby the same strange smile. Three hours later he was gone, just moments before dawn.

And the hardest part was yet to come, Toby thought; he had to confront Katherine. He was in his office at 8:30, anxious and sleepless; she was waiting for him, cold as marble. If she'd cried, it was over now; she'd always been tough that way, keeping all the vulnerability deep inside. She stared at him with obvious disgust, waiting for him to talk first and he didn't find anything to say.

"Listen, I'm genuinely sorry, I didn't intend..." 

She raised a manicured commanding hand, cutting him short. He'd forgotten how impressive she could be when she was angry, and even her sexy grey suit and high heel shoes didn't make her the slightest bit more human.

"Please don't, Toby. I should've listened to Gen long ago but I thought she was talking out of jealousy. I should've listened to Neill, but I didn't trust him; you looked like the perfect man to me, nice and caring. After what I saw yesterday… I don't know who was that man with you but…"

Relief flooded Toby; at least he wouldn't have to protect Chris against any indiscretion.

"I don't know who he was, but I saw enough. It is over, we're done; I've been lenient enough, gullible enough… I'll let you tell your father about it; and please don't pretend anything but the truth, you lied enough, to all of us. And I hope you won't mind if I keep my job here…"

He did mind, but he kept silent. His father had just hired Katherine, she was a very good lawyer, they needed her.

"Maybe it's better this way," she said after a while, but he knew she lied. He could tell by her slightly trembling voice. She couldn't feel relieved, she had been betrayed too much. He remembered Chris' words before he left.

"Be careful… 'Hell hath no fury…' You know, that kind of stuff."  
"Not her, she's not that kind of woman."

But now, watching Katherine, her raised chin, her loathing gaze, he wondered if Chris hadn't been right, maybe the worst part was still to come. After she'd left he spent a long time motionless, trying to figure out his own life now; but it was impossible so he went back to work. He'd think about that later, after Chris' call –he guessed he'd spend a the next days waiting for Chris' call. And how pathetic was that?

Then, the phone rang.

Tbc…..  



	7. Betrayal

************* 

If it had been just for Chris being irresistible, talented and sexy, Toby wouldn't have given in; he was smart enough to know what he wouldn't do, he wasn't shy or innocent; but there was something about Chris that matched his need; he just didn't know *which* need.

And that day, as Chris Keller wrapped his arms around him and kissed him, Toby was aware of losing himself willingly in this embrace. Jesus it was so good; a kiss that spoke of security and strength and he slid his arms around Chris' shoulders to pull him tighter, melt against him, breathless.

"Ah, that was fine," Chris said, breaking the kiss but keeping Toby close, feeling the warmth of Toby's skin through the fabric of the shirt, sliding his fingers along the blue tie.

"Christ, you're beautiful."

He began to loosen the tie, got rid of it and unbuttoned the white pinstriped shirt, snaking his hands inside to feel the warm smooth skin and burying his face in Toby's neck.

"And you smell good."

Toby was kissed again and kissed back the same way, feeling a shiver run through Chris' body.

"Business first, then restaurant, then fucking each other senseless," Toby said.

They ate Chinese in a deli, hidden in the semi darkness of a corner, on a dirty table, drank Chinese beer until late, feeding each other, eating rice and shrimp fritters from each other's hands, teeth biting sharply, tongues swirling around wet and salty fingers dipped in sweet sauce, sour sauce, hot spicy sauce …

"Jesus Christ!"  
"Time to go, law boy," Chris said, rising, breathless.

In his room, he sat Toby on the desk and began stripping him –the buttons of the long sleeves, one by one, kissing the inner side of Toby's wrists, pushing the shirt away, pressing his thumbs against taut nipples, listening to the soft growl in Toby's throat; then unzipping the suit pants and spending a long time there, his face buried in Toby's crotch, strong fingers stroking his neck, sliding under the silky fabric of an old black shirt.

"Come on; let's fuck," Toby said, breathless.  
Chris threw his head back. "You sure?"  
"Of course I am, what the fuck do you mean?"  
"You said you didn't fuck your clients, remember?"

Toby seized him by the shoulders and dragged him to the bed, stripping him on the way, pulling him onto the mattress. After a short fight he was rolled over, Chris knees spreading his thighs wide.  
"From what I understand," Toby said, "you get to be the one on top tonight?"

Fucking Tobias Beecher was like nothing else. Making love with Susan, her yielding body taking him in was like sliding into smooth warm velvet, the sword into the sheath, natural place, natural moves, his mouth on her, soft fragile skin and wet mouth half opened; just love and bliss and release and soothing sensation. 

But Tobias Beecher was never that yielding, never that smooth and when he was defeated by his own need, his own pleasure, he went blind and deaf and mute, clutched to any of Chris' body part, shoulders, arms, thighs, hips, bruising and hurting. 

It felt like being dragged down into an endless spiral, pleasure painfully stabbing Chris' belly when he wanted to hold back because he wasn't sure there would any turning back but he couldn't, Toby was too strong, it was like being drowned, like falling helplessly in a dark sea, until they both surged back to life with a relieved cry, their hearts beating so loud it was scary, Toby trembling with something Chris couldn't quite identify; exhaustion maybe. 

After sex they lay a long time on the bed and when Toby wanted to go to the bathroom Chris held him back.

"Stay here a bit longer."

And Toby stretched like a flower opens, sensuous and sinew, rubbing his wet and sticky body against Chris, his ass hard, strained muscles calling for Chris' hands; those hands Susan loved to kiss and lick, saying they were a treasure and a gift, teasing until Chris roared and laughed. But Toby, Toby wanted those fingers to torture him, around his softened cock and inside him, deep inside him, Jesus, that's so good, he moaned and Chris knuckles pressed against his prostate, Toby stretched some more and they were both panting, Chris' fingers playing Toby's body until they couldn't take it anymore and ended it; a blow job, a hand job, never mind, they were too tired to care.

"Great job, Toby," Chris said, rolling over to look at him, laughing at Toby's smug look, "I'm talking about the contract we signed this afternoon."  
"Yeah, well, it didn't take that much; you were pretty impressive. Jesus, you played like a god, do you know that?"

Chris kept silent, happiness washing over him, until Toby spoke.

"Why are you here? You can have anyone you want, you married a woman you pretend to love…"  
"I love her."  
"Yeah? Then what? Is it about my incredible sexiness?"  
"It's about the way you drown in pleasure when I fuck you."  
"Oh, just that?"  
"Maybe that's enough. Why should there be more?"

That was all; Chris' arms tightened around Toby and Toby locked his thighs around Chris' hips; that's how they fell asleep. And later as Toby was hurrying across the hall to catch a taxi, Chris grabbed his arm, pulled him back, hugged him, his lips grazing against Toby's ear.

"My man," he said and kissed him.

Since their agreement some months ago, Toby had been seeing Chris a lot; never longer than 24 hours in a row, always under the pretext of work. The pattern was always the same; a meeting with some important guy from a record company, Toby listening to him and glancing at Chris who was sitting beside him, silent, eyes dark, shook his head and shrugged.

"There's no use of wasting our time any longer, Mr Beecher; let's go," he said and they left; made it to a room and fucked, Chris getting rid of his frustration and his anger in sex, then resting his head on Toby's shoulder, trembling with exhaustion, giving in to the fingers stroking his hair.

And it was getting at him, Toby knew it was; even in his office at Beecher practice, he kept thinking about a good way to make Chris' demands look a bit more acceptable, find a record company that wouldn't stink that much of money, that would be interested in Chris' ability in music and nothing else. 

His work bored him. He'd given up pleading, the thrill he'd been getting out of it was gone years ago; he knew all the tricks, he was good enough to defeat anyone and when he didn't he could see his father's critical look. It didn't matter how good he was or how many cases he won, Harrison Beecher only seemed to notice the few cases Toby lost, and that reminded him of his son's failures –too many times driving drunk; too many women when he was married, too many easy cases, boring cases, lost because Toby didn't get excited enough, didn't work enough on those.

In Toby's mind the idea of quitting was slowly growing. Quitting, leaving for another kind of life, another kind of people, leave this narrow-minded place, narrow- minded city where he more or less knew everyone, or if he didn't his father did, or his grand mother, or he'd been in high school with this guy's new wife and all the same everyone knew about him, about the black sheep in the Beecher family, who'd nearly killed a little girl, nearly gone to prison, who didn't drive anymore, but still drank because he couldn't help, because the pleasure of losing himself in something or someone was too good to be fought.

Leave for a new place, take a new start and be with Chris.

But then reality took over; Chris had someone, he was fucking married with some woman he loved and there was no place for Toby there. So he sat behind his desk and resumed his work, avoiding Katherine and his father.

They knew. Everyone knew.

There had been a lot of phone calls from Chris at the office; the first one just after Katherine's dramatic exit, to make sure he was OK; they'd spent some time chatting on the phone and they'd got into the habit of calling each other –Toby called from work when he was bored; Chris called from home when he was fed up with playing. This is how Susan Keller learned to recognize Toby's voice, this is how Toby's secretary acknowledged the friendly relationship between her boss and Chris Keller, whose name she'd heard but couldn't quite figure out where until she asked Katherine McClain who, as the only other woman in the practice, always had a kind word for her.

And of course, Katherine knew at once. She checked a record at the local shop to make sure, stared for a moment at the face on the cover, and bought it, for the mere pleasure of throwing it on Toby's deck.

"So that's him? You get fucked in the ass by a pianist? You're so pathetic, and predicable; didn't you tell me once that you'd dreamed of being a pianist yourself, an artist? Maybe you think talent is contagious? Well I heard you play once and I'll tell you… It's not."

Toby had given a look at the record and smiled.

"Thank you for the gift and… To tell you the truth, I'm fucking him in the ass too. And it's good."

After that his relations with Katherine McClain were purely cold courtesy and it wasn't long until everyone knew about it –nice lecture from Neill and his father as if he was some 14 year old kid losing his virginity with a friend's mother –something depraved and slightly disgusting. This time he didn't give a damn and he told them so, warned Neill that if he dared print a single word about it, Toby would have a lot to say about the very virtuous gay leader's past too; he had the pleasure to see Neill pale and make a rather pathetic exit.

On the fifth of March Chris called as he did every week at least and told Toby about an old friend, the first violin at the Amsterdam Concertsgebouw who'd signed with a new independent company and that he wanted Toby to test the waters for him. Toby called the company and arranged a first appointment with its director, Francis Mc Kenzie. At that point, every one knew how demanding and difficult dealing with Chris Keller was, but the guy Toby met was young, and cool, "Call me Franck," he told Toby, "I hate my name"; he'd got a lot of different ideas about how a record company should work and was wealthy enough to leave his artists a free hand. It wasn't big; most of the people they'd signed were unknown, but they only dealt with classical music.

"Alpha music is a small start-up, you're taking a big risk here, Chris. Not a lot of advertising, marketing, your career…"  
An impatient voice cut him short.  
"Do you know so little about me, Toby? I don't give a damn for all the fucking marketing bullshit; I'll be fine there."  
"OK, so let's set up a meeting and sign. I'll have to see you before; I'll send you the contract, but…"  
"Yeah, baby; keep the damn contract, I trust you as always. We'll meet anyway, I'll call you back."

And after that, the deli, and they'd fucked, and Chris had said "I'm a working man again and you don't know how happy I am. When did they say the recording sessions would begin?"  
"At the end of August."  
"Susan and I hired a house in Tuscany; we'll be spending the whole summer there."

Toby felt sick.  
"Oh, fine."  
"And I'd be delighted if you agreed to spend a month, maybe more, with us."

Toby said he'd think about it, although he knew he'd say no; no way he got caught in some love triangle like a blushing teenager; Chris didn't insist and they parted.

"My man."  
Toby heard the words for days, the last words he'd heard from Chris before they let go of each other; and he wanted to shake him and yell "This is love! Can't you see? It's love, what else could it be?"

Some weeks later Harrison Beecher dragged his son in his office.  
"Do me a favour, Toby, take a leave, there are too many rumours going on about you, plus you don't seem very interested in your work theses days. Give yourself some free time to think the situation through."

Toby called Chris back, and told him he was game if Chris still was. 

The place Chris had found was an old stone house nestled in the crook of a hill, surrounded by a huge and half savage garden; secular trees casting huge shadows on a still green grass; it was the beginning of June, the weather was hot; the sky eerily blue, no clouds, heat already weighing on the still earth. The alley leading to the house was lined with cypresses; in old varnished jars, orange trees were exhaling a heavenly perfume. 

A small woman opened the door and greeted him, kissed him on the cheek and above her shoulder he saw Chris' crooked smile.

Chris took him to Sienna, they got lost in the narrow shaded streets while Susan was drawing sketches- a balcony where an old woman was standing, an old crumbling building- and kissed in a corner; they fucked in Firenze in a small grotto near the amphitheatre in Bobolis Garden, while Susan was shopping. Some mornings when he woke up and strolled down to the kitchen wearing only pants, he could tell just by the way Susan moved and Chris' smug look what kind of night they'd spent; still Chris' hungry blue gaze raked over Toby's body and any opportunity was good, quickies under the huge staircase; in the bathroom, some holiday sex that was to be taken as lightly as the huge smooth ice-creams Toby had just discovered and that tasted like nothing he knew; he felt like a kid again.

After ten days, things changed. Chris changed; he was moody, absent minded, sometimes aggressive, a lot like an addict in need of his fix, Toby thought. He began to skip the walks across the fields, the visits, let Susan drive to San Geminiano with Toby, shop with Toby, fix meals with Toby, chat with Toby; checking from time to time how things were going between them, before walking back to the room upstairs where the piano was and play for hours while Susan and her host were enjoying their holidays, day after day letting down the walls of wariness erected between them. 

"Chris told me once you didn't want any kids?"  
"I don't. Anyway it's not like I have any choice in the matter; Chris can't have any, he had a vasectomy when he was 25; it looks like raising kids is something that frightens him a lot."

Yeah? Why wasn't he surprised?  
"You might regret it someday."

She looked him straight in the eyes.  
"I knew from the beginning what I was getting myself into."

But there was a resigned little smile that said differently and Toby just nodded; he'd done the same; thrown himself in this thinking he knew –well he didn't.

And that way the month came to a surprisingly quick end; one of the last days a neighbour brought them a dish she'd cooked herself, for lunch; she'd always looked shocked by the fact that those american people didn't really know what "lunch" meant.

Chris didn't give a damn about lunch; he told Susan he wanted to work on something he'd just discovered, a completely different approach of Schubert's rendering, a detail he'd stumbled upon while reading again an old score of one of his favourite impromptus and that shed a new light on the whole thing; but he hoped Toby and her would enjoy their lunch together. 

She nodded and stayed there a little while longer, leaning against the door, watching him, devouring him, his bare muscled chest, skin glowing in the bright sunshine, this body she adored, but he didn't notice her anymore, he was gone again, so she left. She'd tried, once, to reach for him during one of those moments and for a second she'd seen in her husband's eyes something so alien, so frighteningly blank that she'd sworn to herself she'd never try again.

"I guess we have his blessing," She told Toby, her voice trembling a little. He looked away as she dried her eyes; strange how her pain made him feel bad, strange how Chris' behaviour made Toby more and more uncomfortable.

"Listen," he said, "what we're going to do is enjoy this meal under the old olive tree, drink a lot and chat about everything. What about that?"

She shrugged and nodded; they dragged the heavy table across the terrace and Toby threw a red table cloth on it, set porcelain plates and crystal glasses on it while Susan brought the dish from the kitchen and went back to retrieve a bottle of old Valpoliccella.

"How did she call these?" Toby asked, pointing at the dish, his mouth full.

Susan couldn't remember; but they were hungry suddenly and the pasta was cooked just well, the sauce hot and tasty, tomatoes and basil and green pepper, a touch of –what? Olive oil, garlic, so many mysterious but delectable ingredients–even the colours were gorgeous, red wine, sauce, table cloth and Susan's rosy cheeks. A shame Chris was too busy to share this, Toby thought, especially since their neighbour, a dignified lady from Verona, had cooked it for him as a tribute to his talent.

"Maybe we should bring him some," Toby said, and Susan shrugged.  
"He didn’t look interested; maybe he'll come down later, the lady told me it was good too when (it was?) cold. Chris and food anyway…."

Toby could've disagreed, he remembered sharing delicious dinners with Chris, the one in the deli two months ago had been one of the best moments ever; but sun pouring down on him through the silvery leaves of the big tree, scattering everything with gold, was making him lazy and he remained silent, enjoying this moment on the little terrace, surrounded with the heavy scent of late honeysuckles and potted orange trees, exuberant perfumed roses, withered petals of pearl and ruby falling to the tiles at their feet. 

Shaking his dizziness he went to the kitchen, taking a moment to adjust to the fresh darkness after the blinding daylight, prepared a very strong coffee, listening to the endless repetition of a musical movement swirling down from the open window above, something devilishly enthralling that put a smile on his face and heated his soul.

Susan sipped her coffee and stretched, the straps of her white summer dress sliding low down her shoulder.

"The woman who cooked that thing is just as much a genius as the one upwards," she said, getting rid of her sandals and resting her feet on the chair nearby, a hand holding back the tail of silky cloth that barely covered her thigh –Toby remembered Chris saying how much he loved this dress; of course, he thought, she'd been wearing it for Chris, but he wasn’t there.

He felt hot, his mind blurry with wine; he took off his shirt –one of Chris' actually and Susan laughed.

"Wow! Mind if I draw a quick sketch?"

His spread his arms wide and threw his head back, chuckling.

"I don't know; I'm not sure I'm a very alluring model," he said, his tone both amused and self-conscious.

Susan looked at him, tanned skin that made his eyes bluer, unruly strands of hair bleached with sun, beautiful body, long legs. She shrugged and rolled her eyes.  
"Just don't move, OK?"

It seemed to go on for hours, her witty look going back and forth between him and the drawing pad she'd retrieved, her cute nose frowned in concentration, hazel eyes shining with excitement, pearly teeth biting her lips as she worked on some tricky detail. Toby did his best to remain still, letting his mind wander, thinking how wrong he'd been about her. She was no ordinary person, her beauty –well maybe it wasn't quite beauty, but her attractiveness lay somewhere in this slim frame, smooth skin, witty animal like profile, small breasts, narrow waist and he felt angry against Chris suddenly; in this warm summer light she looked like something too precious to be left aside, a treasure that should've been put above anything else, work included, and it seemed that Chris had summoned him here, invited him for those holidays not because he loved him, he didn't; but because he'd found it a convenient way to relieve his own wife's boredom. And fuck him, of course.

"It's done!" Her voice startled him. "Do you like it?"  
He couldn't focus on the drawing; he couldn't take his eyes off her, her face lit up with pleasure and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. Get a grip, Toby!

"Yes, Yes, it's very good; you have a lot of talent. I mean I know you're a painter, but… Jesus I almost like myself here!"

She gave him a little disenchanted smile.  
"There's not enough room for two artists under this roof," she said.

He rose and came to sit by her.  
"Don't talk like that; don't let Chris' genius overshadow yours, suck it away from you; you have your own life to live; you can't exist only through him."

She stared at him for a moment and rested a finger against his stubbly chin.  
"Isn't it exactly what you're doing?"

Maybe she knew, after all.  
"Yeah, well; I don't know… But I have no outstanding talent that his own could overshadow. You have."

What happened next was barely a kiss, just a quick brush of her lips against his and a whisper.

"Thank you."

Dazed, he stood still for a second or two then leaned forward again to make sure it was real, felt warm soft lips against his, pressing a little harder; he seized her shoulders, pulled her to him and she locked her slim arms around his neck, her scent, her taste flooding him; her now familiar flowery perfume, the scent of freshly washed hair and body already smoothed by clean sweat, taste of the meal they'd shared; their kiss deepening until they were both breathless and dizzy.

"Not here, he could see us."

They stumbled to the little wooden cabin nearby followed by the musical stream from above and got rid of the few clothes they were still wearing –a white g-string under her white dress; Toby was naked in his shabby jeans. He took Susan there, her back against the shaky wooden wall, the door precariously locked on them, her light weight resting on his hips, her hardened tits rubbing against his chest; each thrust pushing her hard against the wall; his fingers caressing and soft over her soft tanned skin, his cock buried so deep inside her he could've yelled with pleasure, smooth warm shelter where he came, hard, and she stiffened, moaned and bit his shoulder to stifle a cry, pleasure running through them like lightning, making them blind and deaf to anything that wasn't them; Toby only aware of her body's tight grip around him, her cheek smooth and hot against his neck, her trembling breath, racing heartbeat, no other sound.

No other sound at all, something familiar was missing; he realized that the music had stopped and that a warm and sensuous afternoon light was filling the small place. 

He looked back.

Chris was standing at the door, staring.

tbc...


	8. Wounded

************

Chris spent the whole month thinking he'd be unable to go on, unable to fulfill his engagement; that the pain was too strong to allow him anything more than sit in front of his piano and play, losing his mind somewhere between consciousness and dream, in a state of numbness that shut up the pain. 

He was alone and the house was all his now, filled with the unbearable warmth of summer, with a golden dusty light that spoke of happiness and love –gone, all gone, and he sometimes felt the urge to trash something, threw chairs, or anything that could be broken against the walls; went running along the heated paths, until he found a shadowed place where he could lie, exhausted, any emotion washed away from him. 

People he met looked at him with undisguised wariness but his old neighbour kept on bringing him food, barely frowning at his crazy look, growing beard and the angry grin that never left his lips.

But he made it. 

He took a flight to New York, where Philip McKenzie was waiting for him, listened to the last details, last arrangements, settled down at the same hotel –the Rigah; and next morning entered the recording studio that looked like paradise suddenly, detached from the world, uncaring of anything but the music pouring from him, letting every hint of anger, regret and need fill it, taint it until he caught the stunned looks of the people behind the glass who'd never listened to such a haunted interpretation; holding their breath when Chris' fingers stood still for just a fraction of second longer than what was expected in the score, poised on the edge of an attack; released it when he pounced; lost themselves in overwhelming breaks of passion. 

"Jesus," one of them breathed, unable to take his eyes off Chris "I heard this music like a thousand times and it sounds brand new all of a sudden. How does he do that?"

"What impressed me most, at the time," Philip McKenzie said years later in an interview, "was how many times he was able to go over and over the same little detail to make it perfect, and also the capacity he had to work for 6 or 7 hours on a row without more than a 20 minutes pause and a glass of water. I have to say that at the end of the fifth week, when he left, we were absolutely exhausted. But of course, the result, as we all know, was worth it."

Yeah, he made it. 

Days were easy, after all. Nights were quite something else. Missing something he couldn't identify but that wasn't only sex, not only love, hurting where there was nothing left, as if he'd been amputated of a member and still could feel the pain there. 

One day during a harmless conversation he learnt that Toby had called McKenzie, talked to him, made sure everything was fine and his throat tightened.

He should've fired him, after what had happened. Next time they'd meet, he would, make a clean break, allow him a new start; erase those memories that kept popping up in mind of a half-naked, barefoot, wide-eyed Toby, blood running down his chest and along his jaw from the wounds; not even trying to protect himself, maybe too stunned to do so, or too self-conscious, pleading softly, stepping back down the alley until he'd reached the gate, then running away in the warm evening sun on the desert road, his too long blond hair dancing behind him, his tanned body disappearing behind the trees. 

Chris had closed his eyes then, leaned back against a pillar and let go of the last stone he was holding, his knuckles white with the strength it had required not to throw it, finish the job – kill. 

That was the picture that haunted him; not the sight of Toby's naked sweaty body entangled with Susan's frail frame; but Toby's look when he'd turned away.

He'd been worried, locked in his room, playing until exhaustion crushed him, afraid that Toby was unable to reach the village and find any shelter, or maybe that he was wounded too badly to make it at all and just collapsed there, unseen. Late at night, he'd walked out with a torch and looked around; he'd found nothing but in the morning he'd called the nearest hotel and learnt that Toby was there; probably Susan had brought him his credit card and his passport, the only things that hadn't ended in the bonfire Chris had lit in the middle of the night with Toby's stuff, flames burning high –but memories didn't burn away as easily as clothes and books. 

He'd spent two days and two nights locked inside his room, playing until exhaustion crushed him, music loud enough to cover Susan's voice; he hadn't talked to her since… since *then*; he'd been unable to face her and when he'd finally emerged she was gone; she'd taken away her clothes, her brushes, her colours, her paintings, everything; just left a letter carefully folded inside a sealed envelop with his name on it. He shoved the letter into a drawer and stopped caring. What the hell? He knew what was inside; the love, the impossibility to make it live and last; music that was Chris one and only love; on the long haul there was no place for her or anyone else. Bonnie, Angie, Kitty, had written down the same feelings with different words; he didn't need to read it. Finally, he burnt it like he'd done with Toby's belongings.

She'd called him a week later though, from her parents' place in England where she'd decided to stay for a while, until both of them knew where they stood. What do you want, she'd asked; but he didn't know. Mostly he wanted to be left alone, but sometimes he missed her and he missed Toby. He missed Toby's breath catching in his throat when Chris reached for the zipper of his jeans and seized his dick, that way he had to bite his lips and moan in despair, watch the fingers on him and shiver, bury his face in Chris' neck; he missed it, missed just having him there, missed Susan. Jesus, what a fucking mess. 

And probably Toby hadn't given a thought about what he'd been doing, drawn like a homing missile to the nearest source of heat and in such thoughtlessness there was something scary, something dangerous that could hurt badly, and that had. Reached its goal. Hurt him. Very badly. Or maybe after all it wasn't only thoughtlessness; maybe Toby had used Chris' own weapons against him; and what about her? Chris wasn't that angry with Susan, she was a woman, she belonged to another species, the one he had no idea about the way it worked, beyond the seduction and sex part. Women was the kind to protect against others, men; like him, like Toby; predators. Susan wasn't the guilty one, Toby was and he himself was.

Music was what kept him going.

In the middle of November the record was ready and a meeting was called in McKenzie's office and of course Toby had to be there. 

Philip McKenzie and part of his staff were sitting around a big polished table; and Toby looked nervous. Chris showed up late, usual look, black shirt, black pants, black boots, laser gaze; he gave a look around, nodded, shook some hands and spotted a chair, grabbed it, dragged it near Toby and sat down, looking cool, his wrists resting on the table, waiting.

"Let's choose the pictures, first of all," Philip McKenzie suggested and handed a folder to Chris with his usual courteous respect.

Chris went through the pictures without a word and shrugged.

"Whatever, I don't really care."  
"You should; it's *you* we're showing. Front and back cover."

Chris turned to Toby, so near, elegant and fuckable, grey suit, grey shirt, grey tie and he wanted to rip the clothes off him and beat the shit out of him.

"What do you think? Which ones would you choose?" he asked, pulling the folder closer; their fingers touching, Toby shivering suddenly.  
"You look sick," Chris said, hard grin on his lips.  
"I'm fine, just a bit tired."

Quivering fingers pulled out three pictures and laid them on the table –sleeveless shirt Chris, arms crossed on his chest, leaning against a wall with this unmistakable coolness, barely smiling; sitting in front of the piano Chris, focused, frowning, a bit scruffy; reflected in the mirror Chris, his powerful neck, broad shoulders, a glimpse of the golden chain he never took off, half-shadowed hawk like profile.

Chris nodded.

"I'll trust you on that," he said.

And it was like being slapped in the face, Toby thought.

The meeting went on, Toby asked for the schedules, the marketing strategy; Chris looked away, bored. In the end, he said he needed to talk to Mr Beecher in private and Philip McKenzie opened his own office for them, left them alone.

"You're fired, Beecher," Chris said.  
"Listen…"  
"No. You're fired. Fuck off."

Toby had expected something like that, it didn't make the rejection easier. 

/I won't leave without a fight. /

"Did you set us up? Wanted to test us, pushed us until it happened?"  
"What the fuck are you talking about?"  
"I spoke to Bonnie on the phone; she said you did that to her, tried to see how far you could go before she couldn't take it anymore, test her loyalty all the time. Is it about it?"  
"So it's my own fault, now? You fuck my wife under my roof and it's my fault? It wasn't my dick in her cunt, Toby; it was yours. And from where I stood you looked pretty happy with it. Both of you."

They were facing each other, near the window; hands in pockets, blue icy looks, stiff bodies.

"You need me."  
"Get the fuck away from me."  
"You need someone who gets to his knees and brings you off –and keeps it secret. I'm the only one you can trust on that."

Chris looked stunned and growled.  
"I said get-the-fuck…"  
"And you could use a lawyer someday, too. Who knows what can happen?"  
"Beecher…"

Blank frightening look, a step forward, it was like feeling the sword of a knife against his neck but he didn't move.

"You don't want to love; you wreck all the relationships you build up; you're afraid love kills your gifts, afraid happiness smothers your genius. You do that every time. Don't you?"  
"Don't push it, Beecher," Chris roared.

Toby wouldn't shut up.  
"You need me, you know you do. More than you need Susan."

The strength of the blow made his head jerk; he slapped back, and had his wrist trapped between Chris' fingers.

"You need that, Chris, you need it; you need the struggle to make it happen, to make it better, these tapes I listened to, they're the best thing I ever heard; you know it."  
"I can struggle with someone else. Clear off."

Toby checked his throbbing cheek.  
"I got you an engagement at the Fenice, Chris."

Chris let go of his wrist, pushed him back against the wall.  
"What?"  
"I flew to Venice a month ago; met the director of the Fenice, you'd told me about how much you wanted that. Next June, Jeffrey Tate will be directing the orchestra for two dates. It's a last minute decision; Tate was engaged otherwise but his own schedule was disrupted. I had them listen to the tapes I brought, they want you. I have the letter in my suitcase."

Chris remained silent for a long time, and Toby's heart began racing wildly; if Chris pushed the offer away, he got no other card left. He saw the usual lazy smile and Chris rested a hand above his shoulder, leaned forward, trapping him, breathing in his face.

"Yeah? You're taking a big risk on that aren't you? What other ace do you keep up your sleeve? How far are you ready to go, Beecher; and why?"

Toby didn't answer, didn't move.

"Fuck," Chris growled "I don't care why; you're the boldest bitch I ever met."

Jesus, Chris wondered as they stared at each other, how many pounds had Toby lost? He looked so frail, his features shadowed and hardened; he'd had his hair cut, Chris could see, but the tips of the curls were still so blond it looked like the sun was trapped there; he unruffled the silky hair and light moved in it.

"Looks like I'll have to put up with you a tad longer after all. Let me tell you then; I'm gonna give you a fucking hard time; I'm gonna make you stay up late, wake up at dawn until you're so exhausted you don't think straight anymore. You'll beg me to let you go."  
"Fuck you!"  
"Not today. And you don't come near anyone I'm with; you fuck with me again, and you are fucking dead. And I'm not talking of the job here."

Toby heard the threat, crystal clear in Chris' raspy whisper and nodded.

"Fine," Chris said "I think we should grab something to eat, now. I'm fucking hungry. Let's go."

"So," Chris asked between two mouthfuls of a very exotic dish he'd ordered at the restaurant in his hotel, "how's Daddy's practice going?"  
"I don't know. I quitted."

A stunned silence.

"What?"  
"When I came back, I… Everything looked alien to me; as if I'd never been there before, I was seeing things in a whole different way, how tired my dad looked, and puffy, and constantly nervous, how little I liked the people working there; how boring the job was, that kind of things. I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. I quitted."  
"Completely?"  
"Not quite; sometimes when they have special cases, cases I'm good with, they call me and I work on it; even plead sometimes. I feel like it's some duty I have towards my father. If I fail, it's no big deal, it's just me being me; if I win it's because the case was so vicious it suited me."

Chris looked at him for a moment and shook his head.  
"I don't think I've ever met someone like you. Someone who's got such a fucked up ego, you know. So completely fucked up."

"My ego's not fucked up. Look, I kept disappointing my father since the very beginning, for reasons I can't quite understand; I'm not as tall, not as broad, not as tough, not as strong and narrow-minded as he hoped I would be; when I succeeded in Harvard he thought I'd been lucky; I suspect he thinks I was exchanged with another one when I was born. I don't even look like anyone in my family."  
"You think he doesn't love you."  
"Yes, he does; it's just that he doesn't consider I'm in any way reliable, trustable, adult."  
He gave Chris a tense smile. "Looks like he's right. Looks like I'm a loser."  
"We all are. Remember, we all die in the end."

They ate in silence for a moment.

"Did you see her again?"  
"Christ, you don't know when to shut up, do you?"  
"No. Did you see her again? Did you leave her?"

Chris looked at him, surprised. He'd thought maybe they'd kept in touch, phone calls at least.  
"I got her on the phone yesterday, yes, we still see each other."  
"You still love her."  
"I'm not going to answer that."  
"Will you divorce her?"

Toby's voice sounded harsh and raspy, as if every word hurt.

"Is it what you want? Is that why you fucked her?"  
"No. Of course not."  
"I told her I'd do whatever she wanted. She wants to divorce me, I'm fine with it; she still wants to be my wife, OK. I guess that if she wants to file for divorce she's got the right guy at hand."

Toby put down his fork.  
"You don't give a damn, do you? You don't give a damn for people around you, that's the truth. Am I wrong?"  
"Yes. You are wrong, but you're too stupidly stubborn to be argued with."

That's the moment when he should've risen and left, but he didn't; he couldn't; he was stuck on his chair with the vision of Chris filling his eyes and his mind.

"Is it good?"  
"What?"  
"What you're eating, is it good?"  
"Yes, of course, why?"

Chris sighed.  
"Because you didn't eat much of it."  
"I'm not… I'm not very hungry."  
"Well I am; mind if I finish it?"

Toby watched him eat; pictures mixing up in his mind, pictures of Chris leaning over his piano, Chris' blank face standing at the door of the little hut, throwing his and Susan's clothes to the floor and turning his back on them; pictures of Chris stoning him away, eyes like sapphires in the livid face; mute with rage. 

Memories of walking on the road, under a merciless sky, hot asphalt burning his bare feet; of sitting on the floor outside the hotel where he couldn't even sleep because he'd left with just his jeans on, not even a shirt, sun burnt, his face damp with sweat and tears, blood running down his chest and arms and no money. Miserable. 

He'd dozed off, hidden under the shadow of an old olive tree until he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, startling him.

"Susan?"  
"Listen, I brought your credit card and your passport, clothes. He locked your room and I couldn't take more."  
"Jesus, Susan, what…"

She'd smiled, a tiny sad smile.  
"It's OK. I'll be OK, don't worry for me, he won't touch me. It's just you know… It's just I feel so ashamed. Dirty."  
"Yeah. I know."  
"You and Chris are lovers, aren't you?"  
"Yeah."  
"I guessed that soon enough; I'm not sure I'm even shocked, he's such an alien to me sometimes."

He had no strength left; she'd helped him up, guided him inside, asked for a room, checked his wounds, ten of them, made by ten cutting stones picked up along the path and skilfully thrown that had cut deep into the skin. One of his cheekbones was bleeding a lot. They called a doctor who stitched up the wounds and gave Toby enough painkillers to knock him senseless. 

Susan had left after that; she looked tired and sad but calmer than him; he felt crushed, sick, nauseated and ashamed. He'd slept for a long time after that, nightmares, each and every noise waking him up, afraid that Chris would come and finish the job, his blank empty look haunting him. But he hadn't showed up and when Toby had settled the bill, the clerk had told him his friend, the American pianist, had called earlier to make sure he was safe and Toby, well, Toby hadn't known what to think anymore.

And now, three months later, Chris was sitting in front of him, eating as if nothing had happened.

"We have to talk about a tour; I wanna play live again. But don't come tell me I start next month, I need some time to get ready."  
"We have to spend at least three days on that, talk about it; I want to show you the proposals I received. I can't do that alone."  
"I'm here for the whole week; we can meet tomorrow morning, eight in McKenzie's office."  
He rose, stretched.  
"I have to go. You're buying, aren't you?"

Bastard, Toby thought.

"I'll put it on the company's bill," he said, tilting his head and Chris stopped, dead in his track, turned to him, pointed a threatening finger at him.  
"Bitch; you buy, it's the least you can do."

Curious gazes turned towards them and he rose, walked up to Chris, grabbed his arm, dragged him outside, looked deep into his eyes.

"You … don't you ever do that again."  
"Why? You deserve it. You're the one who wants to keep something going ith me, Toby; we'll play by my rules."

Toby just looked at him, his fingers bruising Chris' arms. 

And Chris saw the scar; he hadn't noticed before but the anger, and the cold, made Toby's skin turn red and the scar on the cheekbone looked pale, just a little livid mark but Chris couldn't take his eyes off it; he'd done that and he didn't know how he felt about it.

Toby was about to turn back and leave when Chris caught him by the shoulders, pulled him close, slid a merciless hand behind his head and kissed him, hard and long enough to make the world spin around them. When they broke the kiss he didn't let go, kept Toby against him for some more seconds before turning on his heels and walking away.

"Tomorrow; don't be late!" 

Toby watched him disappear at the corner, stunned. Still, he put the bill on the company's account; no way he was going to give in so easily. He went back to his hotel, spent a busy afternoon on the phone with the company's staff, sorted his folders, called his kids and went to bed, jerked off, with Chris' taste on his lips.

His cell phone rang in the middle of the night.

"Toby?"  
"Susan?"  
He straightened up, rubbed his eyes.  
"Hi, did I wake you up? Are you alone?"  
"Yes, no, I mean… I wasn't sleeping; I'm alone… What time is it? Wait, where are you?"  
"London, my parents' place, in the bathroom."

Toby frowned. She sounded… strange.  
"The bathroom?"  
"It's eight am here; I tend to be sick in the morning, throw up every twenty minutes or so, the usual stuff, you know."

It took him a whole minute to understand what she meant and when he did, all he could say was, "Oh, sweet fucking Jesus."  
And fell back to the pillow, his eyes closed.

Tbc…


	9. Who do you love

************

"She called you?"

Chris' voice, indecipherable.

"To tell you she was pregnant?"  
"Yes."

They were sitting on the bed in Toby's hotel room –naked. Chris sighed and came closer, wrapping his fingers around Toby's penis, barely moving, teasing, and Toby's breath caught in his throat.

"Must've been a shock, uh?"  
"You knew."

Toby's hand on Chris' hand, trying to stop him, but Chris slapped the hand away.

"Of course I knew. What'd'ya think? She's still my fucking wife, Toby."  
"Jesus."

Chris laughed, gave him a hard push and Toby fell back to the bed on the soft grey quilt and stayed like that, Chris straddling him, rubbing his cock against Toby's cock, his voice deceptively soft.

"Shit happens. You fuck a woman, no safe sex, and boom, she gets pregnant. You should know, Toby, you got kids; I thought only blushing virgins still believed first time doesn't count. Did you believe that, baby?"

No, of course not; he'd been blind and deaf and mute to everything that wasn't pleasure, not giving a damn about anything at the moment; possessed by the animal desire of fucking the woman, he'd let his brain shut up.

"Like every good male in the universe, Toby; that's what we all do."

The fingers tightened their grasp on Toby's warm flesh and stroked.

"Look at yourself, you're so ready... You wouldn't let anything come in your way, right now, would you?"

Toby moaned and threw his head back, Chris eyes riveted on him, a hard smile on his lips.

"This is how the human race survives."  
"Please!"  
"You know, I'm sure that's what happened to my mother. Think about it, Toby, she was a little girl of 14 and a man wanted her; I saw pictures the cops took when they found her, so small, so fucking frail, long blond dirty hair and her dead brown eyes fixing the ceiling of that sordid place. There's been a man, Toby, just like you, just like me, just wanted to come, just wanted some release; didn't give a damn about her being still a kid, maybe she was his sister, who knows... His daughter, his neighbour's little girl, whatever, he fucked her and she fell pregnant; didn't dare speak, didn't dare show and died there."

Toby reached out blindly, hearing the pain in Chris' voice; and desire vanished as he pulled him close, a hand behind the strong neck, his cheek against Chris' wet cheek, holding him tight, their naked bodies entangled in a parody of fucking.

A minute maybe then Chris pulled away, sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands and Toby didn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry," he said.  
"Shut the fuck up; I know you're sorry, I don't need to hear it. Sometimes, you know, being a man makes me want to puke."

"I wouldn't fuck a 14 years old girl, Chris, I wouldn't do such a thing, and wouldn't even lay a finger on such a young girl. And you wouldn't do it either."  
"I know that. Sometimes I wish I knew who was the bastard who did that; find out and kill him with my bare hands, slash him to pieces; a slow painful death until he begs me to let him live; but I wouldn't."

Toby came near him and threw an arm around Chris's shoulders.

"I asked the police, made some researches, but there's nothing about her; no ID, nothing but this paper in her hand with the name Keller, and no Keller had ever lost a daughter, or a sister, or a niece; it's exactly as if she'd come out from nowhere. Sometimes I wish so hard I knew... I'd give ten years of my life just to know who she was and what happened."

He shivered and Toby pulled a blanket over them to keep them warm.

"I play for her; I hope if she's somewhere and hears me, she's proud of me."

They stayed silent for a long while, Chris heartbeat slowly coming back to normal.

"What else did Susan tell you?" He asked after a while.  
"Nothing. She'd keep the child, she didn't need me; or you, or anyone, she planned to raise the kid by herself."  
"Jesus!"

Chris chuckled. 

"Don't expect me to take care of a kid, OK? I don't want to hear about a baby or anything."  
"Will you divorce her?"  
"Would you marry her, if I did?"  
"If you don't divorce her, the kid will be yours, legally."  
"Yeah, I know that."  
"Chris..."  
"I don't wanna talk about it; don't wanna hear about it anymore; when I married her, she knew, now she changed her mind, used you, used me..."  
"I don't think she used anyone, Chris; I think it just happened."

Bright blue eyes rested on his face for a moment.  
"You're so nice, uh? Always look on the bright side, don'tcha?"  
"It's just life, Chris; you don't have to stay with her if you don't want it. She's not in for the money, Chris, she won't stick to you."  
"I don't know. Maybe."

Then Chris fell silent and Toby didn't dare say anything; it was so unexpected, so stunning that he didn't want to dwell on the subject as they lay side by side for a while, watching the night stretch the shadows inside the room until darkness had swallowed everything.

"The FBI thinks I killed a guy."  
"They didn't arrest you, though."  
"No; they didn't find the body; but if they do..."  
"Then we'll see; hey, I'm a lawyer, a vicious one, I can do criminal law like anyone else if I have to."

Chris chuckled.  
"Yeah, I don't doubt that."

Toby snorted and combed his fingers through the cropped hair.

"I won't go back to prison, Toby, what I lived there... never more; I'd rather die."

In the darkness, Chris' voice sounded determined and cold.

"I know."  
"No, you don't know," Chris said before going on, "I thought I'd leave the States and settle down somewhere else, far enough. It would make things more difficult for them, wouldn't it?"  
"Give it a rest, Chris, no one's after you at the moment; can't you just enjoy what you've got?"  
"Yeah, just like you do, uh?"  
"Yeah, just like I do."

They fell asleep on that and when Toby woke up, Chris was kissing him, hot biting kisses everywhere, his hand on Toby's cock again, stroking.

"Let's go back to the beginning," he said.

Toby moaned, arched his back, urging him to stroke harder.  
"Come on!"

"Do you want me Toby? Are you hot enough?"  
"Fuck me, come on!"

"Wait, wait… You know," Chris said against his ear, soft dreamy voice, "I think McKenzie's hot for you, really is; maybe we should call him."

He was teasing, the tip of his cock nudging Toby's ass, Toby's cock hard and wet and ready Chris smiled, leaned forward and said "I could call him, you'd go down to your knees, I'd tie your hands behind your back and he'd thrust his big cock in your mouth, fucking your throat, gagging you; meanwhile…"

Toby let out a trembling moan and tried to push back –Chris bit his shoulder, held him still.

"Meanwhile I'd shove my dick deep up your ass the way you like it so you'd have to take us both… Would you like it? Does that make you hot? Jesus, I can so picture that; McKenzie would love that; we could do that in his office, you know…"

He didn't wait for an answer and pushed his cock forward, one single merciless thrust that caught Toby completely off guard –and he came, helpless, impaled on Chris' body, skilful fingers just holding his pulsing cock.

"Guess I got my answer," Chris said, and then it only took a few thrusts to bring him off too. He collapsed on Toby's body, crushing him under his weight, breathless; unable to move and they dozed off for a while. 

Night was fading when Chris woke up, stretched, disentangled his body from Toby's, got up and ran a tired hand across his hair, still yawning.

"I have to go," he said; and Toby didn't try to hold him back; let him go and fell asleep again in the dim light of dawn .

Back to his own hotel, Chris showered and put on clean clothes, drank a coffee and sat in front of the window, watching dawn turn into a cold cloudy day.

From the depths of his mind, an idea was slowly rising. He had to find a home; he was tired of hotel rooms, and the further from here, the safer. Soon he'd go back to Italy, he felt better there, the old building surrounded by olive trees and cypresses was a haven like no other place had ever been, the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. And he loved the house, the thick stone walls that had been protecting life for four centuries gave him an illusion of eternity; the quiet rooms, the garden divided between light and shade had become a familiar shelter and he longed to be back. 

But he was still in New-York in the middle of November when the first copies of the record were sent to journalists, TV and radio channels and soon he was overwhelmed with hundreds of calls, invited everywhere, asked for interviews, exhibitions. 

Toby was back home with his kids, dealing with Chris on the phone, submitting him every proposition –after a whole week of fastidious work, he managed to finalize a planning allowing Chris to return to Italy before Christmas. A quick learner like Toby didn't need to be told twice which journalists Chris would never talk to, which shows he'd never attend, and where he'd never go and he was able to answer for himself, still talking to Chris about it to make sure he'd done the right choice.

“Lea Winsley wants you on her show again.”  
“We talked about that already; no fucking way; the bitch asks too many questions.”  
“What are you afraid of?”  
“Nothing.”

Liar. Chris was afraid, Toby could here it in his voice; hear the cold smile that said "don't go there."

“I’ll talk to her; she’ll understand, stay on a purely musical ground.”  
“Bullshit; she can’t do that; if she wants to attract a large audience, she has to dig out some shit, question the families who raised me, the hacks in prison, find something about that Daniel guy...”  
“Did it ever occur to you that people were more interested in the music you're playing than anything else, that you make them feel good.”  
“Don’t give me that shit, Toby. A man who plays piano, even very well, and even a hot guy, it’s not enough. I know what they want, Toby, they want blood. They want the blood my mother and I were covered with when I was born, and she was dying; they want the blood they pretend to smell on my hands, they want a unhappy childhood in an orphanage and the story of a child prodigy who broke loose and ran away, killed a man in a fight, spent 3 years in a 10 foot cell with a man who was twice his age and who traded his protection for sex; a guy who married four times and couldn’t keep any wife; a man who’s keeping his sex life hidden. That’s what they want.”

Toby stretched his legs, crossed his arms; Chris had never gone so far in confidence.

“You don't have to give them anything; you can keep it all private.”

“Yeah, I played this game often enough," Chris said with a disenchanted laugh, "right, long enough, but I’m 40, Toby and I’m tired. I’m a great pianist, I’d love to be a composer, some day, later; I don’t want to be anything else, don't wanna be a freak. I won’t go to the bitch’s show. Find me something where it’s only about music.”

That’s not my job, Toby thought, throwing a file across the room in exasperation, watching the sheets of paper land with random grace all over the floor; that’s not my fucking job, I’m a lawyer, I don’t know anything about Chris' world; I’ve got no idea of the right people to ask. “Who am I supposed to suck to have Chris on prime time in a music-only show?” he asked sotto voce, half smiling. Shit, it’s so not my job.

“I warned you,” his grand mother told him one day he’d taken the kids to her place for the afternoon, “this kind of man has no other love than their art. On the long haul you have nothing to hope for."  
He sighed and she went on.  
“Of course it can be fun for a while. You know, Toby, I knew just by the look you gave him as he was walking away that day in the hall of the theater; knew that we’d lost you.”  
“You didn’t lose me. Jesus, why does it always have to be that dramatic?”  
“Well that’s what your family thinks, actually; apart from your kids you don't seem to be seeing a lot of people around here; your parents, your brother, even old friends... Remember, family is all you’ve got left when the dream is gone.”  
"Why should it go?"

Cordelia Beecher laughed and shook her head.

"Really, Tobias, you're such a child sometimes; it's in the nature of the dreams to vanish; that's why it's useless to cling to them."  
"What are we supposed to cling to?"

She pointed at the kids playing in the garden with her dog, laughing happily in the sunshine.

"They are what matters."

He kept his look on them long enough, pinched his lips and said carefully.

"I'm not sure it's enough. I'm not sure of anything anymore."  
"If you had to choose, who would you favour?"  
"You know, people always want you to choose; the more impossible the choice, the better. I don't want to choose; I don't have to, Gary and Holly have a mother, and they have me; I care about them, a lot, you know that, don't you?"

She nodded with a thoughtful smile.

"But if loving them means giving up all the other sides of my life, then… I'm not ready to do that. When they're grown up, I don't want to be left with only regrets."

Like you, he thought, but didn't say it.

He spent a whole week with his children, took them to the zoo, the movies, played cards and chess with Gary, Holly watching above his shoulder, frowning in concentration, trying to understand the game; he played piano with her, and read them dozens of bed stories. Then he took them back to Gen's place and 24 hours later he was in New York, in Chris' arms, Chris' life, Chris' bed, Chris growling after him, shaking him, kissing him, fighting him; fucking each other silly. 

He stuck with Chris through the whole month, back home once only for a week-end with his kids. He followed Chris to every show, generally late at night, to the studios of radio stations or TV sets where Chris was asked to play and talk about his favourite subject, music and more music. He accompanied him there, walked by his side in the cold, sat in the same taxi, stood behind the scenes, watching him, listening to him, catching furtive exasperated glances and smiling back, hidden but present, and every time Chris sat behind the piano and began to play, his heart clenched and he closed his eyes for a second, waiting for the wave to take him away from reality, to this realm where Chris was king, enthralled, captive, from the very first note to the fading echo of the last concord and the enchantment was so strong that he had to shake it off like a spell. He could recognize Chris' emotions in the tone of his voice and the way he smiled, the cooler the worse, sitting back, legs and arms crossed, a wary cold grin twitching the right corner of his mouth; music was the only moment when he let go of the instinctive cautiousness. And sex of course; even kissing in a dark corridor was sheer passion.

One night Toby felt sick and told Chris he wouldn't go with him; Chris just sat down and said he wouldn't go either; and there was nothing Toby could say to make him change his mind, so Toby finally gave in and accompanied him, nauseated, cold and feverish; Chris barely thanked him but kept him locked in a tight embrace all night long; and when it came to Chris, Toby knew that actions spoke louder than words, which didn't come easy to him.

On the last night though, two days before Toby left, as he was standing behind the stage during Lea "bitch" Winsley's TV show –Toby had finally talked Chris into coming, soothing him as a touchy stallion until he was calm enough to sit down and answer politely, his dark gaze never leaving the woman, he saw someone in the audience he'd already noticed, a week ago, a tall slim hard man, hard blue gaze, older than Chris but oddly similar, his look never leaving Chris's face. Toby watched him for a while before bringing his attention back to Chris, and then the man was gone; but at the end of the show, Toby nearly bumped into him as he was walking down the stairs to rejoin Chris, and cold blue eyes caught his, a freezing smile stretching thin lips.

"So," the man said, "You're Chris Keller's new boyfriend?"

Toby stiffened.  
"And you would be?"  
"Agent Taylor, FBI. You should be careful, Mr Beecher, Keller's fancies don't last long; you could be his next victim."

Toby held the blue gaze and didn't let go, his mouth a thin hard line, his voice like ice.

"If you don't have anything against him, and you obviously don't, you'd better leave him alone, or I would have to believe you're somewhat harassing him, which would be a reason to sue you."

The man's laugh was as cold as his eyes.

"I can see that Keller chose a smart one, this time. Let me warn you, Mr Beecher, this man is a ferocious killer; he'll keep you as long as he thinks you're useful; then he'll throw you away; and maybe your family won't even have a corpse to bury."

He was long gone when Chris found Toby in the hall of the building, livid.

"Do you feel OK?"  
"Yes; yes, I'm allright. A bit tired, I guess."

Chris' look said "you're lying," loud and clear, but he didn't voice it, just shrugged.  
"Thank God we're done; what about going home and spending a cosy evening together?"

They went to Chris' room, talked about the show that had gone off smoothly and Toby closed his eyes, relieved and lay on the bed.

"I bought the house," Chris said suddenly; "I thought, if there's gonna be a kid, Susan will have to find a nice place to spend the holidays; and I love it anyway."  
"In spite of what happened?"

Chris looked him deep in the eyes and nodded.  
"In spite of that yes; I guess it was some… Emotional accident. I guess maybe we're all to blame, the three of us."

Toby nodded too, swallowed hard; he was about to say something but Chris stopped him, pressing a finger against his lips.

"Wait, I'm not done; let me talk, OK, it's hard enough like that. I thought too that it would be fine to have some place I could share with you. I'm tired of hotel rooms, even luxurious ones. So, you could fly to Italy from time to time, with your kids, if you wish… and…"

Toby stood completely still, stunned and numb, trying to process the words echoing in his head; it took him some times to realize that Chris was waiting, and notice the worried look on his face.

"I… I don't know what to say."  
"Yeah? First time for everything, uh?"  
"Are you sure you want that? I mean me in your life?"

He saw Chris frown and added "even if it's… just a couple of weeks now and then?"  
"Yes; I've been thinking about it a lot; when you're by my side, I feel better, I feel… safer, more peaceful. And I share much more with you than with anyone else."

Yeah, allright, Toby thought, maybe that wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but he was not a virgin novice and Chris Keller wasn't Mr Right; and it meant something, it did, even if it took him completely off guard, even if he began to understand that there would maybe never just be Chris and him alone.

"I'd love that," he said; and that was all because Chris pounced, kissing every single inch of exposed skin, tearing off Toby's clothes, muttering crazy words, rubbing his scratchy cheek against Toby's stubble; "Jesus, how I love that; you can't imaging how much I want you," Chris muttered between those feverish kisses, "I don't know what it is about you…"

Toby shut him up, pushed him back and whispered, "I want to fuck you."  
Chris roared and laughed.  
"Come on, baby, do me, do me now."

Susan arrived 2 days later, just when Toby was about to leave; they met at the airport, had lunch together, exchanged a few words, hugged each other –carefully- Toby trying to process the idea that the baby growing in Susan's womb was his and failing; every time he thought about it, it was Chris' baby, and he didn't want to think *why* he kept thinking so.

"I'll raise him alone."  
"Her," Toby said, "it might be a girl."  
"Doesn't matter, I'll raise the baby alone; Chris doesn't want to be a father in the traditional sense of the word and you… Have kids already. This one's mine, is that OK?"

Toby felt somewhat relieved. He didn't love Susan, Susan didn't love him; obviously, she'd taken the situation in hands; he was fine with that. He nodded, saw Chris walk up to them, his eyes dark, worried maybe that Toby would want to claim the baby; or more probably worried that someone else took his place in Toby's life.

"Time to go, Toby," he said.

They walked side by side to the gate n°10, and just there Chris put down the suitcase, pulled Toby to him and kissed him, hard and deep, keeping his cheek against Toby's cheek after that; blissful moment of admission.

"You shouldn't do that… Journalists…"

A second kiss shut him up.

"No one cares, I'm not well-known enough for that. Come back soon. Call me, we have a lot of work to do."  
"Tomorrow, promised."  
"Yeah, you'd better," Chris said, and left, went back to Susan who waved Toby good bye. He watched them walk away together, not knowing very well how he felt about that.

He slept in the plane; woke up tired and a bit lost, retrieved his suitcase and was about to take a cab when he saw his father walk up to him, and froze. Something was wrong; Harrison Beecher's face was livid and his eyes circled with black; he looked like shit.

"Toby… Something happened; I don't know how to tell you…"

Chris. Please, let him be okay. Not Chris.

"Just say it, then."  
"There has been an accident. Gen's dead and Gary… He's in a coma."

And before he had to sit down and let the searing pain tear him apart, some hidden part of Toby's mind registered something. Chris was fine. 

Then he broke down and cried.

tbc...


	10. Gary

Acciaccatura - 10 - Gary 

**************

His son was lying on the bed like an empty shell between beeping monitors and shining screens, his eyes closed, long eyelashes shading his pale cheeks. He'd been lying there for a whole month already and nothing had changed. Of course the physical injuries had partially healed, the bruises had faded but the little boy's waist and breast were still immobilized in a tight corset; and the worst of all, the thing that made it impossible to believe he was only sleeping, a respirator kept his lungs working with a regular soft hiss Toby had come to associate with his own despair. To his father Gary looked thinner and paler everyday, more and more ghostly, less and less real and sometimes he had to fight the urge to shake him, wake him up from this unbearable stillness. 

He hadn't left the room for more than 12 hours in a row –for Gen's heartbreaking funeral, a pale attempt at celebrating Christmas, a few hours of sleep and some time with Holly because he didn't want her to feel abandoned, to think maybe she'd lost her father too. 

Chris had left messages, sent e-mails; Susan had done the same; he'd deleted everything. After his last conversation with Chris from the hospital on the first day, there didn't seem to be much more left to say. He wouldn't go back to Chris because he wasn't able to take back the job that had got him so far from his family; he was unable to feel the gap that had suddenly opened up between them and that he couldn't fill, no matter how much he missed him; he wouldn't get involved in Susan's life any longer because he wanted to keep all his energy for the little boy lying on the bed and the little girl who kept calling her mother in the middle of the night.

They were done, the page was turned, the adventure was finished; he was back home, back to the place he should never have left and he couldn't help thinking, more and more often as weariness grew on him, that if he'd been there, Gen would still be alive and his son playing with his friends.

"You won't leave us, will you?" Holly had asked him a week ago, throwing a pained glance at her brother's empty form.  
"No, Honey, never again."

And now there he was, sitting in front of the bed on a grey winter dawn; he knew he should be going home and face loneliness again; shower, sleep for a while, have lunch with Holly and then come back, spend the rest of the day, and part of the night with his son; he wanted the miracle to happen while he was here, talking to him, reading to him, singing to him, muttering stupid nursery rhymes, feeling the nurses' compassionate look on him every time one of them walked past the door.

Every one had come to him; his family, Gen's family, long lost friends; Neill and Katherine had even taken turns to spend the night home with him when he felt so shaken he wouldn't let sleep take him. They'd been there sitting by his side, silent and understanding, helpless; nothing could take away the numbness, the anger, the guilt, the pain that kept roaming around his mind like wild beasts pacing a tiny cage, threatening to destroy him, destroy what was left of his sanity.

In the beginning, he'd took up drinking again, but booze made him unable to wake up, unable to think, made him numb and the children needed more than that, needed a sharp minded father who'd be able to make the right decisions; so he only allowed himself a drink or two before he went to bed, when he couldn't keep the grief and pain and fear at bay; alcohol helped, it was a deceptive dangerous help, but a help nonetheless, making him able to face this nightmare he was living through.

Sighing, he rose, bent over the small body and brushed his fingertips against the sleeping face, the blond untidy hair; then left the room with a last glance backwards, hesitating on the doorstep like every day. Maybe he should stay; maybe today was the day Gary would rise from the dark place he was trapped in and come back to them, maybe if he left he'd miss that, or Gary would feel he'd abandoned him and give up. But he was so tired already he could barely stand, how would he be able to help anyone? He walked out the door and up the corridor, warned the nurses that he was leaving and that his father would take his place soon.

He was at the bottom of the stairs when he saw his father –recognized the broad back and the hunched shoulders; noticed how old he looked suddenly, and worried, and how affectionate he'd been all the time, never leaving his son alone, taking care of everything, alleviating the burden as much as he could; and now he was here like every day and their looks met, they hugged, Toby nearly disappearing in his father's embrace.

"You go get some sleep, Toby; you look exhausted."  
"Yeah. I'll be back in the afternoon."  
"Take your time, I'm here and your mother will join me later."  
"Don't forget, Dad, you have to talk to him; he can hear us."

Harrison Beecher nodded wearily, didn't even ask how Gary was doing; if any change had happened, he would've been told already and he watched Toby walk away, swaying a little with exhaustion, and sighed, waiting for the elevator to take him up to the little boy's room.

Toby was still wet with the shower when the phone rang –only his family and the hospital had his new number, and he rushed down the stairs, heart racing wildly.

"Chris."

Stunned, as if Keller had just risen from the dead.

"You fucking shut me off, Toby, you said what we had mattered, you wanted to stay with me, that I needed you; and now you're shutting me out of your life."

A chair welcomed him as his knees gave way; one thing was to delete the mail and the messages on his cell phone without listening to them, pretend he'd be strong enough to break up; but to hear Chris' voice, deep and growling with anger in his ear was quite something else, something he felt unprepared to.

"Chris I can't…"  
"Yeah you can; I'm gonna tell you, I'm at the airport and I'll be there in about 2 hours so you'd better be home; we have to talk."  
"Don't you think I'm going through enough right now?"  
"What you going through has nothing to do with us; don't use what's happening to run away from me."  
"I'm not running away from you! But my son needs me, and my daughter needs me, and my whole life just collapsed at my feet and I don't know where I stand anymore and all I wanted was a little time to…"  
"You're a fucking liar, Toby! You didn't intend to come back to me, admit it!"

People's anger always seemed to take Toby off-guard; enraged him or depressed him, depending on his kind of mood; he felt a dark wave of desperation drown him.

"You got it all wrong, Chris."  
"Yeah? Then you'll be happy to enlighten me when I'm here."

First thing Chris noticed when he arrived, around 9 in the morning, was the heat of the house after the freezing cold outside; then his gazed zeroed in on the man in front of him; a short sleeved black polo and an old jean did very little to hide how thin and pale and tired Toby looked, his shining eyes a shocking electric blue, hollow cheeks and a golden stubble where the light caught, lips tight –to prevent them from trembling. He was barefoot and his hair was too long and dirty.

"Planning a trip to Kathmandu?" Chris asked before leaning forward to kiss those warm dry lips, catching the flesh between his teeth and when Toby stepped back he didn't let go, following his retreat until Toby had his back against the table, his palms on the shiny dark wood closing into fists, helpless; and kissed him harder, forcing the reluctant lips open, sliding his tongue in the moist heat of Toby's mouth and finally pressing fully against him, bending him back.

"God!"

Toby turned his face away to escape the kiss and catch his breath.

"It's OK," Chris said, and took Toby's chin between his fingers, pulled him back, kissed him again until he felt strong arms lock around his waist, hands sliding under the woollen overcoat, the velvet of a short jacket, fumbling with the shirt to pull it out of the waistband of Chris' pants, and eventually reaching the skin. Chris knew then it was safe to hug him, squeeze him, keep him locked in a tight embrace and deepen the kiss until they were both breathless. Toby threw his head back and let the cold fingers strip him, shivered at their touch on his cock, felt it harden under the caress.

Sex was nothing, Toby thought, sex was like booze or drug, something that kept the pain at bay; he wasn't going to deny him this relief, as fleeting as it could be.

"Please," he whispered, and Chris fell to his knees to take Toby's cock into his mouth, playing with it, licking it, sucking it, until Toby's knuckles went white with the effort of clutching the table and his knees shook with pleasure; until he came in Chris' mouth with a half-suppressed moan; Chris hands holding his hips tight, stopping him from collapsing.

How did they go upstairs; had he been walking, had Chris carried him? He didn't know; just that he was naked on the bed, showered with insane kisses, turned around like a kitten, licked and softly bitten, arching his back to get more and being rewarded with the soft growl that he'd came to understand as "I'm gonna fuck you."

Chris got rid of his clothes hastily; no time for teasing here, his desire was too strong, he needed Toby and Toby needed sex, oozed need, moaning, urging Chris to take him; but fucking Toby, entering him when he was so tense, so tired, so unable to relax was like stabbing him, tearing, forcing the flesh open, no matter the amount of lube he used, and Chris couldn't, wouldn't do that.

"Come on, baby, open up for me; don't let me think I'm raping you, hurting you," he whispered, his hot breath raising every hair on Toby's body, "relax, let me in, it's gonna be good, come on, come on, take me in, yeah, like that, come on baby…"

He kept on urging him, soothing him until Toby collapsed on his elbows, hissing softly and finally did open, letting Chris thrust inside him, move inside him, take him to heaven, drag him down in the bliss of hell and back to heaven again.

"Oh my God" was all he was able to say afterwards, when they were done, melting in each other, Chris' face buried in the damp dirty curls on Toby's nape, a thigh thrown over Toby's hip, his body wrapped around him. "Oh my God!"

Toby dozed off in Chris' arms, Chris dozed off against Toby's warm skin, breathing against each other; only the cold winter sun woke them up. They rose and got dressed.

"Let's go to your old room," Chris said, holding out his hand to grab Toby's wrist and pull him into the stairs, "I have something for this room in winter; don't know what it is."

When they were settled on the old bed, lying side by side, Chris asked "Do you wanna talk about it? The accident?"

Toby sighed.

"No, thanks."  
"Maybe you should, maybe you'd feel better afterwards," Chris added. And maybe, he thought, maybe I'd know where I'm standing with you right now and how far I can go; which would help, a lot, because I'm really lost, here.

"How long are you staying?"  
"Just for the day, I'm afraid; tomorrow I have to play for this stupid charity gala you negotiated weeks ago. What the hell went through your head, by the way?"

Toby smiled; he remembered thinking at the time that Chris needed to play for an audience more than anything else, needed some training before he went to play Mozart at the Fenice. It had been so important to him at the moment and now… Now it didn't mean anything anymore, he realized with a twinge of guilt.

"What are you going to play?"  
"Schönberg, first; then Bach as a reward because Schönberg's a tough one."  
"I'm sure you'll do great."  
"I'd do better if you were there with me."  
"Chris, I can't leave Gary; the kids… I'm all they've got left now."

Chris nodded; he understood; didn't really like it but what was he supposed to do? Next time if there's one, he thought, choose someone who's got no kids; they're too much of a burden.

"What do the doctors say?"  
"Nothing new. He can wake up today, next week, next month or never; and even if he wakes up they don't know what the damages will be."

Chris sighed, moved to lean on his side, watch the man lying close to him.  
"How did it happen?"  
"A guy… He was drunk, didn't see Gen, their cars crashed at the junction. She died instantly and Gary..."

He couldn't go on, barely could hold back the tears and Chris took his hand, squeezed it.

"What about the other driver?"  
"He was sentenced to 20 years in a prison nearby. My age, worked for an insurance company, he'd just had a drink or two with his colleagues; exactly what I used to do; I can't even hate him."  
"No one asks you to. He's in prison, uh? Guess he got a nice little welcoming party."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Ah, you know, a young enough guy, a little lost, he ain't used to the place, lands there among hardened criminals; there's a good chance he gets raped the first week and killed on the second one."

Toby glanced at him in shocked surprise and Chris sighed; he didn't want to broach that particular subject; it wasn't one he liked and he'd come here to get a question answered, once for all. He got up, and went to the piano, sitting on the old leather stool, resting his hands on the keyboard, his back on Toby.

"So where are we now?"

Toby sighed, said softly that he wouldn't work for him anymore.

"I'd gathered that much; I've called some people I know, I'm OK with that. It's not what I'm talking about."  
"We had sex just a minute ago and you're sitting in my room, what more can you possible want?"  
"I feel like I'm losing you," Chris said as fast as he could "like you don't want me around anymore."

He heard the mattress creak and a presence behind his back, two hands on his shoulders forcing him to turn around, eyes catching his and not letting go.

"I don't want to lose you," Chris said, flat voice, "I love you."

Lifting his shoulder he turned his head, rubbed his cheek against Toby's hand as a cat.

"How do you know for sure?" Toby asked, sounding wary.  
"I know."  
"You know that you love me? Just like that?"  
"I don't want to lose you; I don't want to hurt you; I'm afraid to mess up when I fuck you. I know you feel guilty about your son and I don't try to use that against you."

Wariness turned into surprise.

"What do you mean?"  
"You feel guilty; rich guys like you, always got what they wanted, big house, big car, big job…"  
"Chris, you're richer than I am!"  
"Doesn't matter, inside I'm poor; let me finish, will you? Guys like you I know how they work, got some of your kind before, they want to be punished because they couldn't prevent anything, were helpless; I do that –very well, from what I heard; get rough on them; could've got rough on you and you would've liked it."  
"I don't think so," Toby said with a flare of anger.  
"You don't know what you're talking about; you never tried that, I never got like that on you; I would have, but I can't and that's the reason why… I fucking know I love you."

Toby snorted.  
"Doesn't seem to make you very happy."  
"Who would be? Who would like the prospect to have his life shattered, feel that vulnerable and exposed? I don't know what it's about you, Toby, but I love you. I tried to find out, but I can't. I thought that after lots of sex the feeling would wear off, that when I would've seen you unshaven and messy in the morning, seen the flaws I generally notice after a while, I would get tired of you, get rid of you –just like the others."

Toby remembered the FBI agent talking about that, telling him how short-lived Chris' fancies were.

"And now?"

Chris gave him a sad narrow smile and held out a hand, traced the outlines of Toby's face, his nose, the circles under his eyes, his tight lips and the stubble on his cheek.

"Now I don't think it will wear off, every little thing about you is priceless to me. I love you, do you love me, Toby?"  
"Stop! Stop that, please! Right now, my kids need me more than you do; you can survive without me for a while; I'm not sure they can. Do you understand that?"

Chris had that strange look, painful smile again; he shook his head without a word, and looked away.

"You don't believe me," Toby said.  
"I don't know what I believe or not. I missed you so much; I don't know what's happening to me. I guess I'll believe it when you're back to me."  
"You'll have to share me with my kids; I can't change that."  
"Yeah, kids. I'm OK with that particular kind of sharing; it's the other kind I don't like. Toby, do you have someone else?"  
"What? What the fuck… Do you think I've been fucking nurses? Or Katherine?"  
"You've been in pain; you could've been looking for comfort, someone could've taken advantage on you; Katherine, yes, or your ex-hippie boyfriend."  
"Neill."  
"Yeah. Him too. Please just tell me there's only me; no one else fucking you, just me; and I'll be patient; that you won't go with anyone else, sleep with anyone else. You know, if I fell for you, then a lot of other people probably do."

Toby snorted, incredulous.

"Remind me… Aren't you married or stuff?"  
"Yeah; that's not the same."  
"Ah! Of course it's not; you're the real man here, aren't you? Jesus, how can I be listening to this bullshit while my kid is lying unconscious in a hospital bed?"

But Toby's angry puzzlement didn't reach Chris; the dark eyes looked green in the cold light of day, green and deep and Toby was drawn to those eyes by the sheer force they held, a spell, a magic charm, and couldn't look away.

"Just tell me there's no one else, tell me I'll be the only one."

Toby sighed, shook his head.

"I can't believe you're asking me that."  
"Tell me!"  
"Fuck you, Chris! try to understand me; Gary's my kid, I don't know if he'll survive; I'm unable to think about anything else right now, I cant! I really can't; whatever I'd promise now would mean nothing!"  
"But fucking me was OK so what am I to you? Just a piece of flesh? Are you using me to shut up the pain?"  
"How dare you? You've been setting the rules from the beginning; your rules, right? –sex, no love; now you change your mind and I should do the same, no matter how I feel, no matter if my little boy is dying while we're having this conversation? Fuck you…"

He was yelling with rage, hitting Chris' shoulders with both fists.

"…You insensitive selfish motherfucker!"

Breathless, he turned his back on the other man and went to the window, trying to quiet down, resting his forehead against the cool glass; heard Chris rise. Strong fingers grabbed his arms from behind, pulled him back; he felt Chris' chest against his back.

"You're hurting me! Let go of me!"  
"Tell me you love me; tell me there's no one else. I don't ask for more."

Toby sighed; dealing with Chris in stubborn mode required some iron will –he wasn't sure he had it at the moment.

"Love doesn't mean…"  
"You love me."  
"Well, sounds like I do; but it doesn't mean…"  
"You loved me from the beginning, didn't you?"  
"Chris, I think…"  
"Yeah you did and I didn't believe that you could get me to love you; nobody did before, you're the first."  
"Yay me! Where's the medal?"  
"So you'd better not let me down, Toby."

And it was much later, months later, years later, much too late anyway that the true meaning of the sentence sank in, because at the moment Chris turned him around, wrapped his arms around him, kissed him and the sentence remained unanswered. Toby didn't hear the warning, didn't hear the storm in the distance, clouds gathering at the edge of future, ready to rain down on him later –much later, when he would've stepped too far from the shelter of his own life to run back.

They had sex again that afternoon, sex was good, sex took Toby's mind away from Gary and then Chris played while Toby dozed off, hearing everything but unable to move or speak, unable to identify the music, but cradled in it, wrapped in it, flooded with it; music that had nothing real, like a soft breeze running through him –Chopin probably and Brahms and Schumann and things he'd never heard before –later he realized he'd missed this first attempt at composing Chris was offering him.

Days were still too short; the afternoon was cold and dark, soon it was time to go; they showered and got ready to go.

"I don't know where you find the strength to go through this; you're so brave."

Toby snorted.

"What am I supposed to do, anyway? It's not like I have any choice."  
"Tomorrow's concert will be just for you, Toby, you and your kids."

The taxi stopped in front of the hospital.

"I'd like to see him," Chris said.  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yeah."

Because if keeping Toby meant he had to put up with his kids then he would; he threw an arm around Toby's shoulders and they walked inside together; Toby's body stiffening with anxiousness as they went, his pace slowing down as they reached an open door, a glass wall separating the room from the corridor.

"He's here."  
"I won't be long. Just talk to him, you know, let him know we care."

That earned him a grateful look. Jesus, he thought, to what lengths do I have to go to make him mine?

He walked into the room alone and sat by the bed; it was too small and crowded with medical stuff to have more than one person inside; Toby was watching from the door: he saw Chris lean forward, his mouth against the little boy's ear; he had no idea of what he was whispering, but he guessed it was about what Gary was missing right now, what he would be missing later if he didn't wake up; girls and music and whatever makes life so good, how much his father was worried about him… He couldn't help but smile; he was sure Chris' arguments were much more relevant than his own.

"He looks like you a lot."  
"Yes."

Before Chris left, Toby asked "How's Susan?"  
"Impressive; I think she could be carrying twins, she looks a little like a whale; but she's fine, smiling and fine; made a lot of paintings and a beautiful portrait of you, gave it to me. I'll hang it in front of my bed, it will the first thing I see in the morning when I wake up."  
"When are you leaving? Going back to Italy? Home?"  
"Don't know yet; I might wait for Susan to have the baby and your son to be back."  
"Or dead."  
"He won't die. Come on, have a little faith, Toby."  
"Sometimes it's just hard to believe."  
"You made me love you; you can make him come back."

He gave him a last kiss and left; Toby stood there for a long time, staring into the night, depressed and lonely again, then made his way back to his son's room, waiting for a miracle.

tbc...  



	11. New life

********* 

Excellent beta by Rifka! 

******************************

"It's very small."

Toby sighed, shifted in the leather armchair, managing to move without letting go of Gary’s hand.

"Not 'it', Chris. He. He's human."  
"Yeah? You didn't see him, he doesn't look that human to me. And he’s so small, I can hold him in the palms of my hands."

Toby couldn't help smiling.

"Did you?"  
"What?"  
"Hold him in the palms of your hands?"  
"Yeah. Then he began to move; it didn't feel safe."  
"How's Susan?"  
"Delighted. I can't begin to imagine why because to me it’s just an ugly, red and wrinkled little animal, but she seems to think he's the most beautiful baby in the world."  
"Mothers tend to be that way."

Hard to imagine that. Chris holding a kid in his hands that happened to be Toby's flesh and blood; but Toby was so deeply absorbed with Gary and Holly he didn't even *feel* it, feel how weird the situation was. Silence stretched, questions wrapped in it. Now it’s the right moment to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this, Toby thought but courage failed him. 

"He's got something from you though," Chris said, in a smiling tone.  
"Something from me?"  
"Yeah. When I brush my finger against the corner of his mouth, he turns his head and sucks on it."  
"You motherfucker!" Toby said, chuckling, relieved that Chris was able to make a harmless joke about all that.

But yes, he remembered Holly and Gary doing it too, hungry little animals instinctively looking for food; and for a second Toby wished he was back to those happy years.

"Apart from that, brown hair, muddy eyes…doesn't look like anything human."

Doesn’t look like you – nicely put, Mr Keller. You can be very considerate when you want to.

"He'll change. How did she name him?"  
"Harry. Don't ask why, she didn’t tell."

Gary moved and moaned, still on the threshold of sleep, squeezing his father’s fingers.

"I have to go, Chris; Gary's waking up."  
"I miss you, Toby. When will I see you again?"  
"I don't know. I really don't know. As soon as I can…"  
"You have to promise you'll go to Venice with me; I'll trust no one else on that one. It gives you two months."  
"Jesus, how much more stubborn can you be?"  
"Artists are stubborn; and selfish; and possessive; you wanted the whole package, right?"

The whole package… Chris' voice on the phone, the way he forced Toby out of the weariness and the pain forced him to keep believing that the frail little boy lying on the bed would someday be able to walk again, talk normally, go back to school and have friends.  
"Right now," the doctors had told him "he's out of his coma. He's young, there's a good probability that he recovers at least partly. But…"

But Toby shouldn't expect a full recovery; Gary was conscious, he could move his head and his arms, form words that came out of his throat like the growl of an old witch. They'd told him his mother was dead; he'd cried for days, shaken with mute sobs in his father’s arms; Holly's presence seemed to please him though; he gave her a shy smile with the left corner of his mouth. Jesus, sometimes Toby had to walk out of the room and cry.

So Chris was like fresh water in the middle of the desert, a window opening onto a world Toby couldn’t reach anymore; he didn't let him wallow in pain; he talked to him, about Susan and the baby, the music he was playing, anything to take his mind off the pain. Sometimes Toby fell asleep while Chris was playing for him hundreds of miles away and woke up with his voice whispering in his ear.

"Hey you! Still here?"

Some hours of happiness, of innocence and God how Toby needed those.

"I'm playing a lot of Francis Poulenc and Debussy and Ravel –concerto for the left hand; do you know the story? He wrote it for a friend who'd lost his right hand during the First World War. I love it, it’s so… Unusual."  
"Do you ever listen to something other than classical music?"

A silence, amused or skeptical; Toby could imagine Chris’ smile, both secret and amused.

"Should I?”  
“I don’t know, you tell me.”  
“I listen to other kinds of music from time to time.”  
“What kind of music?”  
“I don’t know! What the fuck do you want me to tell you? Old rock’n roll, I guess, stuff like that. I went to see Springsteen a long time ago, you know one of those very long show he used to give. Great memories, I loved it. Happy now?”

Discovering Chris Keller day after day, listening to whispered embarrassed confidences about his childhood, carefully chosen memories of the last family he’d lived with, what they were like, why he hated them most of the time, how he’d convinced their daughter to run away with him when they were both 15. Toby suspected that a lot of things, painful things, remained hidden; things Chris didn’t want to talk about, but in some way their intimacy was growing and that was good.

Before Toby was able to plan anything coherent, it was June and Chris was to leave for Venice. Toby had given a hundred calls, sent a hundred e-mails from his laptop just to settle the last minute details, sitting in the garden of the hospital while Gary was asleep or playing with his sister.

It had been a long time, maybe 7 or 8 years since the last time Christopher Keller had agreed to play with an orchestra and his experience in that matter was rather bad. Not that he didn’t like that particular musical form, who wouldn’t? But it meant playing under someone else’s direction, follow someone else’s point of view and Chris was a difficult man to work with; some of the best directors had given up and stopped struggling to force their ideas on him; besides he wasn’t very good at socializing and his relationships with other musicians were often strained. But playing in such a mythical place, where he’d always wanted to play, was such an exceptional opportunity that Keller was ready to make some concessions. 

“When I learned that the theater had been burned down to ashes it was like a nightmare. Places like this one are like sacred ground, losing them is like losing a part of myself.”

Toby knew that Chris had been one of the donators who had helped to rebuild the place, even if he never mentioned the amount of the gift.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Chris had told him “it’s just that I don’t remember. Really.”

Chris Keller arrived in Venice on the fourth of June, met with some Italian journalists for an informal press conference; he’d become quite good at that and speaking in Italian was something he began to appreciate. Later he went to the theatre to meet Jeffrey Tate and the musicians to begin working on the two pieces he’d be playing a week later. He already knew them by heart but playing in an unknown place on an unfamiliar piano required more work. He listened carefully to the master’s views on the music and mostly agreed with it; he knew, as any good musician does, that half the work lay in the perfect synchronization and harmony with the orchestra. ‘You’re working with them’, one of his teachers used to tell him, ‘not against them; if it works, they’ll prepare a wonderful showcase for you; your part will be easier and the result much better’. Chris believed that.

The same night he called Toby.

“When are you coming?”  
“I hope to be able to join you on Friday.”  
“Friday? Hope? Friday’s a little late and you don’t *hope*; you tell me you will.”  
“Are you giving me an order?”

Keller took a deep breath.

“Listen, Toby,” he said “you’re not going back on your promise. I’m not stealing much of your time and there’s no way I’m gonna let you wallow in this pitiful existence you seem to believe you’re due. You’re too young for that and I need you.”

“I know. Sunday’s the best I can do. My parents will take care of the kids.”

A silence. Now that he’d made his point Chris could afford some gentleness.

“How are they?”  
“Holly’s been sick today, she didn’t go to school and Gary, well… I suppose it’s going to be a slow recovery.”

Keller heard the twinge of discouragement in his voice and closed his eyes. 

“Hey,” he said, “you have to believe in him because if you don’t, who will? He needs you for that. It was meant to be slow, remember? He wasn’t supposed to recognize you so soon and he did; the doctors didn’t think he’d be able to talk normally again and he does. Next, he’ll be walking again.”  
“I hope so. The only thing I want is my little boy back.”  
“You can’t get the past back, Toby. Forget about it. You’re gonna have a new and different loveable little boy.”  
“Yeah, I know.”  
“You need to have fun, Toby, you need to spend some time with adults.”  
“Meaning you.”  
“Yeah, me. Who knows you better than me? Who pleases you better than I do?”  
“Modesty’s your second name, isn’t it?”  
“Hey, I know what I’m good at.”

Three days later it was Friday and Chris arrived at the airport much too soon. He watched planes take off, daydreaming while people rushed around him, bumped into him, talked much too loud. After what felt like years he spotted Toby’s unmistakable silhouette striding across the hall, looking around for him. Their eyes met and Toby’s face lit up as they rushed toward each other, not quite touching, a little awkward, breathless and the hell if Toby wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen; he didn’t quite get how people could walk past him and not be immediately drawn to him like he’d been in that hotel bar 4 years ago. 

“Hey,” he said with a smile “you cut your hair.”  
“Yeah. Do you like it?”  
“I feel like I’m gonna fuck a 20 years old guy, but yes, I love it.”  
He gave a look around and brushed his lips against Toby’s mouth, holding him tight.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Toby’s clear blue eyes, the wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows, his dreamy smile, his body hidden under a elegant beige suit … Chris threw an arm around his shoulders.

“I love you.”  
“I love you too.”  
“I promised Tate we’d be working the whole afternoon so I’m afraid we don’t even have time to go to the hotel. But after that I’m all yours.”  
“You’d better.”

The taxi left them near the pier.

“Let’s walk, it’s not very far.”

The town was rather calm for June; the tense international context did little for tourism. Chris knew quiet streets that led to the theatre; they didn’t even have to cross a bridge, just walked along shadowed narrow alleys among children hurrying to school, housewives carrying plastic bags.

“It’s like being out of time,” Toby said after a while.  
“Yeah. Good for you.”

They arrived on the little square and Toby stopped, looked at the white building and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing, but every time I’m surprised at how small the theatre looks from the outside, and what a shock it was the first time I walked inside; the luxury, the size of the stage… I wasn’t prepared to something like that.”

“Yeah, it really takes getting inside to understand. It’s like Mozart, you read the score, you think it’s easy, maybe conventional; and then you play it, listen to it, think about it and it makes you humble, you understand you were just an arrogant prick; God lies somewhere behind the notes and you don’t even understand where. Same here; I hear tourists say, ‘hey, that, La Fenice? What the fuck, it’s small and common, how can it be such a famous place?’ they never get to go inside; they never know what they’re missing.”

In the hall Chris reached out to touch him but Toby slipped away, suddenly uncomfortable after a too long separation. Chris would have to win him all over again, he knew that and of course it was part of the attraction; he put his mind to it all afternoon, throwing Toby ambiguous glances and half-threatening hungry smiles above the piano to let him know how much he wanted him and how hot he looked sitting in front of the stage on one of the red velvety armchairs, listening with rapt attention, sometimes leaning forward with an expression of deep concentration, smiling in delight.

“I could listen to you all day and all night.”  
“I can play for you all night if it’s what you want.”

Toby smiled. “I bet you had something else in mind.”  
“Anything that puts a smile on these lips is good, baby,” Chris said in a deep voice.  
“Being in your arms is good too.”  
“Cuddling?”  
“Come on; I’m not such a tease. But just leaning against you, yes… It’s good.”

‘Just leaning against me, uh?’ Chris thought, suppressing a smile while Toby’s hand traced the tattoo on his arm, the muscles on his chest and lower, pulling the boxers down and pressing against him, moaning, his fingers closing around his cock, trailing along his thighs, getting to know again every detail of a body he hadn’t laid a hand on for nearly three months. 

They exchanged a look; Toby’s gaze misty and veiled with expectation, Chris’ expression sharp; making sure his partner was ready and pulling him against his skin, rubbing his cock against Toby’s thighs, growling against his neck, feeling a strong hand grab the nape of his neck and drag him into a breathtaking kiss.

Chris broke the kiss first, panting.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Toby…” and he pounced; Toby’s reserve entirely forgotten as he threw himself into the playful fight Chris had initiated and luxuriated in the feeling of the other man’s body, heat and smell swallowing him, devouring him, praising him with hungry words whispered into his ears, with questing fingers exploring his body, inside, outside, inside again and that impatient ‘I can’t wait’ groan while he grabbed the lube and entered him… After so long the first thrust tore a cry out of Toby but Chris pushed forward, further… “Come on, come on, open to me,” pulled Toby on top of him and thrust upward hard, his hands clenched in Toby’s hair, stroking his face, his throat, blind with desire, thrusting harder and faster and deeper until he felt a deep shiver shaking Toby’s body, until they were both coming hard, exhausting themselves with pleasure.

“Oh my god.”

He kissed Toby’s sweaty face; bit his neck, his ears, his lips.

“You know,” Toby said later with a chuckle “fucking me doesn’t require you to turn into some werewolf every time.”  
“You didn’t like it?” Chris asked haughtily.  
“Smug bastard.”  
“I don’t know how to fuck otherwise, maybe you should teach me a sweeter way?”

He was purring and Toby laughed.

“Leave me some time to recover and I’ll show you. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

Chris’ enigmatic gaze raked over Toby’s face.

“Yeah. I’ll love it.” 

The voice said it all. The doubt. The sadness.

“What’s wrong, Chris?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Come on, don’t you bullshit me! What-the-fuck-is-wrong?”

Chris rose and padded to the window, opened it, looked at the bright moonlight dancing over the still waters of the canal, the smell of Venice in summer floating around him, both putrid and sweet; like death.

“Do you love me, Toby?”  
“Yes.”  
“Will you always love me? For better and worse, in health and sickness and all?”  
“Do you want to marry me?”  
“I would if I could. You know… You might change your mind; I’ve not always been the guy I am today, I have a lot to lose.”  
“I don’t give a damn about the past, Chris. I love you,” Toby said, standing too and walking up to rest against him, their warm naked bodies pressed against each other. “and if you come to bed, I’ll show you how much.”

An exasperated sigh and Chris shrugged.

“Fucking’s not loving,” Chris said “I can fuck anyone. I only love you.”  
“I love only you; I don’t fuck anyone else.”

They made love after that; real love, sweet and slow and Beecher took his time to bring Keller where he wanted him, floating somewhere between need and pleasure, lost, before the killer blow that left them panting and exhausted for hours.

But even then… Even then Chris knew something was missing, something he couldn’t pinpoint, something that would have required much more than what Toby was ready to give. More than love. Chris craved to make Toby his, erase everything in the world that wasn’t him, and his furious hunger for possession scared him.

/This isn’t love. This is madness; if Toby knew about it, he’d leave me. /

What had that moment of doubt been about? A silent fear finally exposed? A simple moment of nostalgia mixed with the anxiety of the upcoming show? Just that? In the morning Keller was back to normal, hugging Toby, kissing him endlessly before leaving for the theatre while Beecher went to the museum.

“I don’t want you around when I’m concentrating; you’ll learn soon enough what kind of thug I am; I don’t want to waste our honeymoon.”

All afternoon Chris locked himself in his dressing-room among flowers and messages of love sent by his fans and Toby barely saw him before the beginning of the concert, just caught his eye and a flashing smile before he walked under the lights amidst thunderous applause. The night’s uncertainties seemed to linger in the anxious passion that pervaded the whole recital; Keller’s fingers dancing above the keys, caressing, striking; the program was classing but alluring; Rachmaninov’s third concerto, one of most pianist’s favorites and Mozart’s 24th concerto; both inhabited by their composers’ ardor; Rachmaninov’s raw passion likely to effortlessly move the audience’s heart and soul, Mozart’s fire hidden between a civilized and sophisticated but still haunted façade. But for that particular audience going to concert wasn’t only some instinctive social habit, as it had been for Toby’s parents, for example; music was part of the town, part of them as this theatre was. Music was born here, belonged to them and nowhere better could the collective spirit of a musical epiphany blossom for an evening, shared by hundreds of people in some pagan communion. 

It was late when the music stopped and enthusiasm broke free, taking Chris Keller off-guard, stunning him for a short while before he rose, encouraged by a very smiling Jeffrey Tate,.

There was an endless round of applauses; 25 minutes spent worshipping the orchestra, its director and most of all the magnificent man standing there, his eyes scanning the invisible faces in the darkness, bowing to pick up the flowers, red roses that rained over the stage, offering them to the women in the orchestra. He’d taken off his jacket before Mozart, tossed his tie at the end of the concert and now he was rolling up his sleeves and Toby who was watching from the wings winced at how exhausted Chris looked, how vulnerable, saw him stumble and feared he would collapse on the stage.

“Is there any way to stop this?” He asked Giovanni Leonte, the director of the theater, who was standing beside him. That earned him a condescending look and a stern answer in the man’s bad English.  
“No. This is how do you say? a ritual; they’ll be uhm… hurt, ahhh… upset if we take him away. They love him.”

Right, exactly the kind of love that kills.

A party was given later in the luxurious foyer of the theater and Keller attended it with the graceful mindlessness of someone who’d left his mind somewhere else: he looked dazed and dreamy, smiling but not talking much, subdued; shaking virile hands, kissing wrinkled, taut, tanned cheeks, letting diamond and gold beringed fingers slide against his back, his shoulders, giving in to the unwanted touches like a big cat. He didn’t seem to care much about Toby, acted like he didn’t even notice he was there. They hadn’t talked again since the end of the concert and as he watched Chris stroll mindlessly among the guests, Toby felt the old familiar feeling awaken – rejection – reached for a drink and just when his fingers closed around the chilled crystal Chris turned his eyes and frowned, shook his head. 

A shrug, a twinge of anger; who the hell do you think you are? My fucking father? Chris raised an amused eyebrow and smiled one of these “I love you” smile… Toby put the glass down and smiled back albeit a little tentatively before resuming his interrupted conversation with Jeffrey Tate’s wife.

Little by little, Chris seemed to emerge from his own dream, his exhaustion turning into some sort of seductive bliss, his body reacting by instinct to the praises, the caresses, his eyes looking around until he’d spotted two easy preys among the crowd of men and women gathered around him. He moved closer to the mayor’s daughter and her brother, blond, witty and slim, staring at them with covetous undisguised hunger, forgetful of anyone who wasn’t them.

Toby saw that, noticed too many looks focused on Chris, heard whispered remarks around him and crossed the room to put an end to the game.

Two hands grabbed Chris by the shoulders and pulled him back, tearing an angry growl out of him; what the fuck? 

He turned and saw Toby, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Do you mind? I want to talk to you.”  
“I’m busy.”

It took all Toby’s self-control not to slap him square on the face, erase the ravenous smug smile, blow out the fiery furnace that was Chris’ gaze at the moment. He stepped back reluctantly and nodded, his lips white with anger, a vein sticking out, pulsating on his forehead. At least Chris seemed to lose interest in the two youngsters and melted into the crowd again after a last resentful glance.

“Who would’ve guessed you’d be such a fucking possessive bitch,” he said, sitting on the bed in Toby’s room next to his as his lover took off his shirt.  
“Do you know the meaning of the word ‘inappropriate behavior’?”  
“I don’t smoke cigars, I’m not concerned.”  
“Very funny. Was it your hand I saw on that young girl’s hip? Did you speak in that boy’s ear so close that your lips were touching his skin?”

Keller laughed.  
“You’re jealous.”  
“You wanted me here; I came for you; I don’t like very much to be left apart because you’ve spotted some choice morsels and that you’d rather have me look away and let you savor them in peace. Not talking about the embarrassing fact that they were the Mayor’s children. What did you intend to do next? A threesome with a girl of 19 and a boy of 16? Was I supposed to join?”

Keller sat there for a moment, looking at his feet.

“Is it you lecturing me about fidelity?” he only said, with purposeful disdain.

Toby turned to him, pale with rage.

“Are you going to use that every time it’s convenient for you?”  
“Fuck you!” Chris said and rose “I’m sleepy. Good night.”

The door slammed behind him.

Toby waited for hours, lying half naked on his bed, dozing off from time to time, hoping Chris would come back, wondering if he was lying alone all the same or if he’d invited someone to keep him company. At dawn he sat on his bed, rubbing his fingers against his face, glanced at his travel bag – all packed up, ready to go.

“Toby,” a voice said across the door “may I come in?”

No way, he thought but the door flew open and Chris stepped inside, looked around, saw the bag and sighed.

“I spoiled everything, as usual,” he said.  
“As usual?”  
“Yeah, seems that every time I find someone I love I make a good job of sending him, or her, away.”

Toby rose and Chris took a step forward, trapping him between the bed and his body.

“Don’t push me away, Toby; I care for you a lot. I love you.”  
“Did you spend the night alone?”  
“It has nothing to do with us; you know that. But yes, I spent the night alone. I kept hoping you’d come.”

Toby snorted, feeling sad and tired.

“So did I.”  
“Let’s not waste the little time we have together,” Chris said, sliding an arm around Toby’s waist.

“You played wonderfully, yesterday,” Toby whispered, yielding against the hard body.  
“Yeah? I don’t know, I don’t remember much of what happened; it’s always like that, when I’m playing, it’s like a moment of trance. But I guess they had it all taped; I’ll be able to listen to it. Later. Now, it’s you I want to listen to.”

They kissed, again and again, made love until it was late in the afternoon and Toby had to leave, exhausted. He slept on the plane and took a taxi to his parents’ place to pick up the kids, take back his life where he’d left it, feeling a lot like an adulterous husband after his last escapade. Stupid, he thought. I didn’t betray anyone! But still he didn’t leave Holly and Gary for a single second during the following days, promising he’d stay by them no matter what.

But less than a week later, Francis McKenzie’s voice woke him up in the middle of the night. Six hours ago, the FBI had arrested Chris Keller as he was getting out of the plane at Kennedy Airport and charged him with the murder of Daniel Vogel, whose body they’d found buried in the middle of a wood near the frontier of the State. A man who lived nearby was ready to testify he’d seen Keller dump the body there. 

Toby’s heart sunk in his chest and he had to close his eyes, lean back against the wall, suddenly dizzy, his mouth dry. He’d called Chris in Venice two days ago, he sounded fine and now…

“I’m coming,” he said. 

Then he called his parents, Gen’s parents, waited for them to arrive, and took the first flight to New-York where McKenzie was waiting for him.

Tbc…  



	12. Inside out

***************************

  
Thanks to Rifka for the wonderful, efficient and fast beta! The remaining mistakes are solely mine. 

*****************************

Toby entered the untidy room where Chris was lying; a cheap suffocating hotel room; dirty sheets, dirty floor, but the man lying there was naked, covered with a thin layer of perspiration, his hard belly flat, every muscle of his body chiselled in the semi-darkness; and Chris was hard, hard and waiting, the invitation plain in his blue eyes as Toby joined him on the creaking mattress and began stroking him, drawing light circles on his chest, his belly, then lower, bending over to take the head of Chris’ cock between his lips, taking it deeper and deeper, letting it grow in his mouth, his throat convulsing around it while a lazy hand slid down his back, reaching his ass, fingers teasing the opening, loud moans escaping his mouth. He began sucking, licking, teasing the crown of Chris’ cock just under the head, tasting the first drops of pre-cum; but had to let go, mewling when three fingers stabbed him, fucking him deep, bumping with deliberate roughness against his prostate, sending him in heaven …. 

“Go on,” Chris said and Toby resumed his licking-teasing-sucking, all along the shaft now, pleasure slowly growing…

“Daddy, Daddy… Gary’s crying!”

Fuck. Toby tried to sink deeper into sleep, refusing to let go of the dream.

But another anxious call and Gary’s sobs dragged him out of his trance, made him rise from the rumpled sheets, disoriented and frustrated, his hard cock rubbing painfully against the fabric of his pants… Fuck, he’d gone to bed still dressed. He looked out; it wasn’t dawn yet but Gary was going through one of those nightmares that didn’t seem to disappear. 

And suddenly Toby’s dream was gone. He climbed the stairs to the kids’ room and sat down on Gary’s bed, holding the little hand in his, stroking the warm fingers with his thumb.

/ Chris, I miss you so much. /

The next day he decided to try and visit him again.

It was his fourth trip to Oz but the last one had been painful and useless. Chris had refused to see him and Toby had broken down in the corridor where the prison psychologist, Sister Pete, had rescued him. He’d found that strange, a nun working among those men, wondered if she was able to help any of them. The place looked like a sanitized picture of Hell. 

“How am I supposed to help him? He doesn't even want to see me!”

She’d sighed and looked at him, thoughtfully.

Sister Pete had tried to reconcile the man who’d refused to work in her office, his hard cold gaze, his cool and bold alluring look, that half-crazy smile to the pictures she’d seen, the covers of the records – Leonard had been enthusiastic about the young pianist and his interpretation of Beethoven’s concerti; and after her husband’s death, Sister Pete had gone on buying Keller’s record because Leonard would have. When she’d learned that he’d been sentenced in there for murder, she’d thought it was a bad joke at best, a tragic error at worst; she’d expected someone… Ah, what had she expected actually? Someone sensitive and subtle-minded, shy maybe or at least reserved, frightened and crushed by an adverse fate? Their first encounter had shattered those romantic fantasies. Chris Keller looked as ruthless as any other inmate; more alluring probably than any other man she’d met, cold, smart and obviously dangerous. She’d laughed in Glynn’s face when he’d told her about the charges and now she wasn’t sure of anything anymore; Keller was a loner, a fighter; not at all a lost fragile soul like poor Dobbins had been and Sister Pete felt betrayed and fooled. Artists shouldn’t be that way.

“Your friend is a very disconcerting man, Mr Beecher.”  
“Please call me Tobias, Sister,” Toby said with a smile.  
“Maybe there’s a way to arrange a meeting without him knowing it.”

Toby had seized the opportunity and now he was standing in Sister Pete’s office, feeling much too nervous, maybe a bit scared of Chris’ unpredictable reaction.

Sister Pete let Chris inside, thanked the hack and closed the door on him, her back against the wooden panel, her heart beating loud and fast while Keller looked around and saw Toby. For a second, she thought he’d storm out, saw the lean body tense, hands clenching into fists; Toby said nothing, did nothing, just stood there, passive and eventually Chris closed the distance between them. She’d expected a friendly hug but Chris tackled Toby back with an exasperated growl, catching him as he was stumbling, pulling him against his body and tilting his head to kiss him, devour him; both hands locked behind Toby’s head as he pushed him back against the wall, never letting go of Toby’s mouth.

Desire rushed through Toby’s body and strength deserted him as he kissed back, opening his mouth to the questing, probing tongue, one of Chris’ hands sliding down his back, under the waistband of his pants, finding the skin, grabbing his hip, his ass, turning around to seize his dick and rubbing hard against it. And in spite of the painful roughness of the caress, something inside Toby snapped. His mind went numb, pleasure building deep in the pit of his belly, the small of his back, growing, pervading each cell of his body, too strong to be denied and he tried to break the kiss, caught Sister Pete’s stunned look above Chris shoulder before closing his eyes, locked in a fierce embrace, his chin pulled back, his mouth caught again, lips bitten by sharp teeth as every nerve in his body tingled, heart beating too fast, lungs working hard to catch some air and suddenly he felt it, the last shiver before the blindness, the madness and Chris’ mouth swallowed his moan.

When Toby opened his eyes, they were alone and only Chris’ weight was holding him up.

“Did you miss me, baby?” the dark voice whispered in his ear “because I sure missed you.”

And whatever Toby wanted to say, whatever he’d come for, he didn’t remember what it was, the only thing he wanted were those arms wrapped around him and Chris’ body as a shield between him and the world, him and reality and wasn’t that ironic that he’d come to get the comfort of Chris’ strength when he was the one who was supposed to bring some.

Chris stepped back, let his hands slide off Toby and whispered “Get me out of here, Toby, get me out of here fast.” 

And fuck, even if it was an order Toby just nodded. 

Then Chris was gone; leaving it to him to explain to a shocked Sister Pete what had just happened.

“You love him,” she said, looking concerned.  
“Yes, I do.”

She looked at him thoughtfully but said nothing more.

That same day, during the endless hours between lockdown and lights out, standing in his cell Chris spent a long time looking at the deserted quad, banging his forehead against the glass wall until it hurt for good, until he allowed the pain to draw tears and could pretend it was just that. The pain. Not the sorrow, the despair, the fear, the hopelessness, helplessness. His podmate didn’t seem to notice; most of the time the poor guy worked very hard to make himself as invisible as possible, sleeping, reading, anything to avoid drawing Chris’ attention to him.

Back home late at night Toby found a message on his answering machine “Don’t come back unless it’s to get me out of here”, and Chris’ voice was so cold and angry Toby had to sit down. 

“Did it occur to you that he might be guilty and that Daniel Vogel could be just another one; the next one being, let’s say… you?”  
Neill’s face was wrinkled with concern and something else.  
“Neill, you’re biased.”  
“No. I’m not; I’m being realistic here; he’s been seen climbing into a taxi hours only before Daniel’s boyfriend called the police; and there’s a witness. What more is there to say?”  
“A lot more,” he answered with a sigh “at least about the witness.”

Toby turned to Katherine who’d said nothing yet. They were sitting in a restaurant near his hotel; trendy place, nice food, cool music, a taste of intimacy and luxury, a place for the elite. I belong here, Toby thought, maybe they’re right. But his mind kept showing Chris trapped in a little fish-bowl waiting anxiously for Toby to take him out. 

The witness. What was wrong with the guy? He said he’d seen Chris dump the body in the woods, near a little pond where they’d found it, partly decomposed. The guy recalled Chris very clearly, which was strange because everything had happened in the middle of the night and if the weather report was right, it was raining hard; how had the guy been able to see anything precisely enough to be sure it was Chris?

“He stated that he used a flashlight,” Toby told Chris during their first meeting after Chris’ incarceration “but if he did, you would’ve noticed it, wouldn’t you?”

Chris’ look seemed to cut deep through him.

“Yeah.”

Toby hesitated; he knew that the answer to the second question would hurt either way.

“And you didn’t.”  
“I wasn’t there, Toby, it wasn’t me.” 

They said that ignorance was bliss but ignorance led them nowhere in that particular case.

“I’m sure he’s lying; I’m sure his testimony was somehow forced on him but I have to prove it and to prove it I have to be sure that the stuff about the flashlight is a lie. Tell me, Chris, I need to know to go on.”

They were sitting alone in a little room, face to face, a hack watching them, suspicious. Chris kept his look down for a long while; Toby rested his fingers over Chris’ hand and heard a deep sigh.

“There was no one in the woods; there was no light; I even fell twice because of the darkness. No fucking flashlight, Toby.”

Toby nodded, pensive, trying to wrap his mind around the meaning of Chris’ words, looking deep into Chris’ eyes and seeing nothing there but an unusual sadness.

“The bastard’s lying. I have to find out why.”

Now, weeks later, facing Neill and Katherine, he couldn’t stop feeling bitter and angry.

“I expected more from the two of you than shallow preconceived ideas based on personal grievances,” he said..

Katherine kept silent but Neill frowned.

“I admire Keller’s talent but I have no reason to believe he’s innocent until you prove it.”  
“Which I will.”  
“We’ll see about that.”

Toby tossed his napkin and stood up. 

“I’m wasting my time here; other people need me.” “Are you talking about your son?” Katherine’s voice was too light, just the hint of a reproach.  
“I’m talking about my son, my daughter and Chris Keller.”

He flew back home feeling horribly guilty, thanks to her, and spent the whole evening playing with the kids, stayed with them in the little room upstairs where Holly and Harry slept together more often than they should have, curled up against each other. Holly’s affection was proving more helpful than anything else, Toby thought with a smile; the boy had been making tremendous progress lately; he was walking, and running and even talking normally. Granted, his memory was still badly damaged and he couldn’t read or write, barely count but at least the doctors were more optimistic now. 

Toby was spending most of the time working on the case with his brother; hours in McKenzie’s office to keep him informed, both of them working on the release of a live CD from the Venice’s concert. McKenzie had never abandoned Keller; the company had received thousands of messages from fans and other pianists, some of whom were friends; there had been numerous petitions asking for Keller’s freedom but bail had been denied due to the horrific circumstances surrounding the murder and because Keller still had his passport and could easily escape; maybe to Italy where extradition would be a bitch to obtain. 

Venice’s concert had been a national event and the papers were following Keller’s judiciary odyssey very closely. No one could believe in Chris’ culpability and no one really cared; they wanted their favourite pianist back, guilty or not and to some extent it didn’t really matter; what was a man’s life compared to Chris Keller’s divine genius? 

After Chris’ message Toby felt drained but couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. The next morning he got a call from Susan.

“I thought maybe you could use some help; if you like I’ll come and stay with you for a week or two, look after the kids when you’re busy.”

The offer took him off-guard; Susan had always seemed so independent and she’d been distancing herself so much from them that he had believed she’d stay away. 

Not wanting him to come to the airport, she took a cab to his place; Holly was looking warily at that unknown woman who hugged her father so tight.

“I’m just a friend, Honey, only here to help,” Susan said, making things clear to everyone that she didn’t intend on taking take anyone’s place.

Of course she’d brought Harry and when Toby saw him, his first thought was that Chris was an outstanding liar. The baby was 5 months old and very lively; blue eyes clear as a summer sky and short silky blond hair began curling around his face as he opened up to the world around him . Toby’s caught the look on his daughter’s face but she didn’t say anything.

“Chris told me he looked like you?”  
“Did he?” She laughed and brushed a hand against the baby’s face “He must’ve been joking then because it was obvious from the beginning that he looked a lot like…”

She bit her lips, noticing Holly’s inquiring gaze.

“My mother and my father are both blond with blue eyes; I’m the family’s ugly duckling.”

And for the time being Holly seemed to accept that. 

Later when Harry was asleep in one of the empty rooms and the kids playing upstairs, Susan asked “How is he? I wanted to go visit him but I feared the publicity; then he sent me a short letter telling me he didn’t want me to come. I’m worried, Toby; Chris in prison… It’s something I can’t quite picture.” 

Who could?

“He seems to be fine; he’s been in prison before, he’ll survive. And he’ll be out soon.”

Pretending was easy.

“Even so, will he find the strength to take his life back and…”

Toby stopped her, resting a hand on her arm.

“Let’s take it one step at a time; first thing is to get him out.”

She remained silent for a moment before asking.

“Toby,” she asked “Did he kill the guy?”  
“No. I’m sure he didn’t. Was he ever mean to you?”  
“He was to you.”  
“Considering the situation I don’t blame him for what he did. He didn’t kill me, he never hurt you or the baby… He’s innocent, Susan.”

She looked deep in the eyes and nodded. 

“He is,” Toby said. 

/ Shameless liar that you are; how long will it take to believe your own words? /

At the same time, lying in the darkness of Em City, Chris was sitting against the glass wall catching a dim ray of light coming from the guard station, writing on a legal pad he’d stolen in the storage room. A light flashed into the pod and he raised his hand to protect his face, waved to Murphy who nodded back and walked away. Chris looked at him as he repeated the same routine all around the cells and rubbed his stubbly chin before resuming his work. When he was done he tore a sheet out of the pad, folded it and shoved it in the back pocket of his pants, took them off and collapsed on his bunk, closed his eyes, dreaming of Toby; Toby’s smooth and talented body, Toby’s breath catching in his throat; Toby’s perfect ass, Toby’s cock in his hand, his mouth, the taste of him, the smell of him, his warmth all around him as Chris wrapped his own fingers around his cock and began stroking, quietly calling out Toby’s name like a litany while pleasure invaded him, forcing him to let go. 

Fast and efficient; he didn’t ask for more; the next day he’d find some nameless guy to fuck and hurt because that’s how you survived there; ‘if they fear you more than you fear them, Chris, you’ll be safe’; that’s what Vern Schillinger used to tell him 23 years ago in Lardner. Vern had been paroled more than a year ago but his name would keep him out of harm’s way, some of the guys here had heard of Chris so the Aryan Brotherhood left him alone; and he’d managed to ally himself with an Irish guy; Ryan O’Reilly didn’t like him; he didn’t like Ryan O’Reilly but they needed each other, it was the cold and silent alliance of two feral beasts joining their skills to get rid of their enemy more easily and parting after that; each one his path. As it was, O’Reilly had good ideas and Keller knew how to use them real fine at the right moment and it had saved their lives a week ago when the homeboys had become a real nuisance. 

A week later Toby asked to see Chris and he readily agreed because he wanted him so badly it hurt; he sat in front of him in the empty waiting room, glancing outside at a sunny September day and rested his hand over Toby’s hand.

“If you agree I’m going to ask for a new bail hearing; and this time I don’t think they’ll be able to deny you freedom.”  
“Tell me what makes you so sure about it.”

Toby took a deep breath.

“Our witness, Jonas Rosenberg, he’s got a very interesting record. Drug traffic, drug dealing, reckless driving, he’s already spent 5 years in prison for several crimes and the next time he’s in for life; which leads me to believe that he got a deal with the FBI or the cops; he’s talking bullshit about you to get his sentence overturned.”

Chris let go of Toby’s hand and sat back, crossed arms, a cold smile on his lips.

“The motherfucker didn’t see anything; OK but how are you gonna prove it?”  
“He saw a man dump a body and forgot about it for 5 years, he was able to recognize you in the middle of a rainy night deep into the woods and see your face perfectly clearly; at the time he lived very far from there, what the hell was he doing there? Plus I intend to use the fact that you’re not about flying away to another country since you’re innocent. In some way we’re lucky; the corpse was in the water long enough, they won’t be able to prove anything using the DNA. I demanded that the medical examiner’s conclusions were sent to me, just in case I could cast a shadow of doubt on the victim’s identity; I heard that the conclusions were inconclusive. They can’t keep you here; too many things remain questionable in your case; they’ll have to let you go and after that I think we can avoid a trial; pull the rug out from Taylor’s flat feet, make him stumble, get rid of him. Legally.”

Chris kept silent for a while; then sighed and Chris’ voice, strangely distant. 

“The fact is I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to pay you back.”  
“I don’t want any payment; I’m doing my job here,” Toby said, shrugging “but there’s one thing bothering me… That Taylor guy… What’s wrong with him; what is it about you that obsess him so much?”

Chris smiled.  
“If you take me out of here I’ll tell you the whole story. OK?”  
“OK, but you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid; don’t get caught in a fight or stuff like that; I don’t want you hurt or worse; you have to make it just two more weeks and the nightmare will be over.”

Chris nodded. Toby didn’t have the slightest idea of what a week meant in Oz. Hours, days, weeks or century, all the bearings fading into an endless grey stretch of time with no intimacy, bad food, violence, danger, death, blood and the constant temptation to let go –drugs, sex, whatever. 

“I’ll do my best; hey, I’ve been doing great until now!”

Two weeks later Chris was led into the courtroom between two guards and a single glance was enough to see the bruises all over his arms and shoulders, and the left side of his face; he was limping and barely managed to hold back a hiss of pain when he sat down, turning around to see Toby sitting just behind him and giving him a lopsided smile that said, “I’m OK; I’ll survive.” 

There was a bandage around his right wrist… Toby’s eyes met his brother’s who would plea for Keller and Angus nodded with a slight smile. He knew the job; he’d play the emotional part all the way; the judge’s look was trailing over Keller’s face as he slumped a bit in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face in sheer exhaustion, letting go.

And of course it worked. 

“I’m out,” Chris said with a smile, leaning on Toby’s arm as he walked out of the courthouse through a hidden door to avoid the journalists.  
“Not really free.”  
“Come on, don’t you fucking rain on my parade; you don’t know how good it feels! Just being able to feel the sun, look at people, no one to tell you when to eat or pee. And you! Fuck! It’s great.”

After that Chris gave him the expected and enthusiastic thanks; told him he owed him his life, hugged him like crazy. Then sitting in the taxi he took off the bandage and moved his hand, a hard smile playing on his lips; Toby looked for a bruise, a mark, anything but saw nothing and looking at Chris he said.

“You faked it!”  
“Yeah, well, I had that little discussion with an old friend of mine the other day and it gave me an idea. The bruises look good, don’t you think? Just a harmless fight. I figured that a little more would be better. I wasn’t that badly hurt, just tired, I just added a little limping and the bandage; did you see their face? They all looked so sorry for poor fucking me!”  
“Jesus, you’re really good at that, aren’t you?”  
“That and a little more,” Chris said, biting Toby’s ear with a soft delighted laugh. Toby laughed too but inside he felt a stitch of uneasiness. 

Toby didn’t remember much of the trip to the hotel where he’d booked a room for Chris, just recalled being thrown on a king-size bed and kissed again and again, thanked, worshipped, undressed, kissed again, Chris’ hot mouth everywhere; then climbing one by one all the steps to heaven, sure that it would never end and that he’d die if it did, until Chris was pounding into him with such strength each thrust lifted Toby from the mattress, forcing him to clutch at the hard body towering over him, look for some balance, tossed and turned and fucked, each thrust bringing more madness and more pleasure until eventually he opened his eyes and looked at Chris face… 

Cold, empty, unloving face. Orgasm twisted Toby’s body just when his heart broke; he yelled in pleasure and anger and bit Chris’ shoulder hard; causing him to go rougher on him, pleasure and desolation washing over him as he watched Chris come, his eyes barely shining…

“You don’t love me,” Toby said.  
“Don’t be stupid,” Chris whispered, wrapping Toby in his arms, kissing the vein pulsing on his forehead, his eyelids, his mouth; but Toby turned away.

“You don’t love me; I saw it in your eyes.”

Chris sighed and rested his forehead against Toby’s neck.

“Why can’t you just be satisfied with what I’m giving you?”  
“You said you loved me; you don’t. It was a lie.”

Chris pushed Toby back as softly as if he’d been a little child.

“How the fuck would I know? I never loved anyone. I didn’t lie, Toby, but I don’t know what love is; I’m like a blind man trying to figure out what colours are. What I feel for you is the closest thing to love I ever felt.”  
“You were repaying me with sex. It wasn’t love. We’re back exactly where we began; sex and business.”  
“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it; I know you did.”

Chris’ hand on his cock, stroking with exquisite softness and Toby leaned back, shaking while Chris’ mouth roamed over his body.

“Fuck me,” Chris said  
“You can go to hell! I won’t play this game any longer.”  
“Come on, you know you want it; fuck me.”

Toby arched under the relentless and skilful caress.

“How many love making sessions before we’re even? Before you feel you don’t owe me anything?”  
“It’s not about that; don’t be stupid.”  
“How long, Chris?”

A sigh and the hand withdrew, Chris body left his, the silky sweaty musky touch and scent deserted him and Toby felt the cold and the pain.

/ It’s over. /

Chris sat on the edge of the bed, his head low.

“I would’ve talked to you; I wanted to; I’d been thinking about it in the plane; but after what happened… Prison… made me see things otherwise.”

He shrugged.

“I know nothing about you, do I?”  
“Fuck that! Listen Toby; I will never live up to your expectations, true love and all that bullshit; as much as I like you it’s not enough to keep me glued to you; I’m not what you expected; I’ll never be.”

Silence and realization fell on Toby.

“That night in Venice… You didn’t spend it alone, did you?”  
“No. Of course not.” 

Chris remembered them both very well. So young, so hungry, so eager to let him do whatever he wanted to them, their round asses, the girl’s narrow waist, the boy’s slim hips. He wasn’t ready to let go of that particular kind of pleasure, not even for Toby.

The look on Chris’ face… evidence. You don’t change people; you think you do but you don’t. ‘It’s in the nature of dreams to vanish,’ his grandmother had told him. 

And now Keller was talking.

“After you left I realized it would never work; we would fight and fight again until one of us got hurt and gave up and I don’t want to hurt you; I don’t want to be hurt either.”  
“What were you afraid of? Were you scared that I’d stop helping you? Afraid of being found guilty and spend your life in prison, or worse?”  
“I think too highly of you for that. What I’m afraid of is that some day, any day, you’ll find out that I’m unable to fit your idea of love and stop loving me.”  
“Why the fuck should I love someone who doesn’t love me?”  
“Yeah; that’s what I mean Toby; forget me; take back your life,” Chris said holding out a hand and touching Toby’s jaw “You don’t need me. You’ll be happy without me. You’ll never get what you want from me; I’ll never get what I want from you. Let’s stop it before someone gets hurt.”  
“Or killed?”  
“I’m sure enough of myself; what about you?”

Toby closed his eyes again and lay back. He should’ve known. Chris’ surrender that morning in Venice had been too complete and too fast; Chris never acted that way.

After a moment got up and showered, shaking with grief. Coming back into the room he found Chris still sitting, looking numb.

“If I asked for more sex I guess I would have it?”  
“Toby…”  
“I won’t.”  
“Toby…”  
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me… I won’t let you down now; to tell you the truth as I see it there will be no trial because the file’s fucking empty; and if there’s one you won’t go back to jail, I’m pretty sure about that.”

Chris turned his eyes to him, looking suddenly tired and old.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”  
“No. I wouldn’t. I’ll keep in touch. Do what you have to.”

The door slammed, Toby was gone and Chris felt sorry and lonely and fucking wonderfully… Free. 

Tbc…


	13. What goes on in your mind

**************

Toby had been right; after the bail hearing the whole case unraveled quickly and the judge almost held the FBI in contempt of court due to their tricks and lies; Toby pulled the right strings and Agent fucking Taylor had to get himself another job. No trial. 

They had a last meeting; Chris had that unflinching gaze - he wouldn’t change his mind and Toby had enough pride left to let him go, barely hearing the words of gratitude. Too many of them, and no real feeling. 

And there it was; real freedom but nothing like the bliss Chris craved when he was trapped inside Oz. Just pain, anguish and suddenly waking up in the middle of the night, sweat rolling down his back. He was going down; badly. 

There had been a time when he’d known ways to soothe the pain, calm down the anguish, fill the void. He’d been good at that. Chased around until he’d found someone to fuck; bring the prey home; play with it and according to his mood… Well he didn’t want to think about that anymore. 

He tried again but the whole thing had lost its charm; had become a boring routine, always the same words, the same moves, the same tricks to get what he wanted; the truth was that he didn’t want it hard enough to play the game. Old cats were like that, probably, still able, maybe more able than they’d ever been but somewhere between yesterday and now the will was gone; he looked at potential preys, watched them; the way they moved, the sound of their voice, their smiles, looking at them with covetous eyes but when the moment had come to pounce, he just felt nothing but weariness. 

Fuck I’m getting old. 

“Mr Keller, I listened to the piece you wrote in prison.” 

Chris made a conscious effort to listen to Francis McKenzie, turned away from the window. He’d almost forgotten he was there, standing behind him in his cozy office, all dark wood and leather couch. 

“Toby played it for me twice, he told me the prison psychiatrist found it in your locker and kept it.” 

Toby… TOBY? Chris frowned, opened his mouth but McKenzie was going on. 

“You remember this piece, don’t you? It’s a… well I don’t know if the word sonata is appropriate; very dark, very moving; Toby…”

“I assume you’re talking about Mr Beecher here?” 

Francis McKenzie stood speechless for a couple of seconds before his freckled skin turned to a bright shade of red. 

“Yes, errr… Mr Beecher and I…”

“It’s OK; I just wanted to make sure.” 

Shit. 

Toby fucked McKenzie, fucking McKenzie fucked Toby, he’d touch the man who was his, kissed his lips, sucked his cock, fucked his ass. He tried to go on listening, to focus on something else; Toby had played that piece he’d spent so much time writing while in Oz; writing because it was the only way to remain sane, to remember where he belonged and what his life was; writing every fucking night after lights out … He’d left it in the locker, it had been a moment of shyness. You’re not a composer, Chris, only a player; this belongs in to the trash can. And now Toby fucked McKenzie and played this piece of shit? 

He didn’t have the slightest idea of *how* he got back to his hotel, pictures parading in his mind in bright, vivid, sickening colours. What the fuck; Beecher, who do you love exactly? Not this podgy business man, don’t give me that shit. He should’ve asked McKenzie how it happened. When he was in prison? Yeah, must’ve been that; fucking bitch felt lonely, working hard to get Chris out of hell and McKenzie had listened, and helped, he could see the picture crystal clear. 

He’d fucked Toby. The fucker would die, like all the other bastards always trying to push him over the edge making him angry; well he was angry and now they were gonna see how it was when Chris Keller was mad. There was no way that cocksucker would steal his Toby… 

The lamp went flying, crashed against the wall, broken glass, shattered mirror, sparks. Blind fucking rage. 

He’s not your Toby. You broke up with him. 

His sleep was haunted with blazing nightmares and he woke up in the middle of the night, shaking, shivering, sweating, cold as hell inside and shit how could he feel so bad? His chest hurt, his head hurt and the first thing he thought was “shit I’m fucking dying!” and the pain was stealing any conscious thought but he managed to punch Toby’s number on his phone just to hear Toby’s voice on his cell phone; the message; Jesus he could’ve cried. 

When the pain receded it was too late to go back to sleep; Chris felt dirty, exhausted and angry. He had 3 hours left before dawn and that was enough; more than enough, he thought with bitter satisfaction; not like he hadn’t done that before. 

He dressed and walked out. 

The phone woke Toby up too early; finding the phone where he’d left it, by his side. 

/When did I pick up this habit of sleeping with my phone? You know when. / 

“Beecher.”

“Toby?” 

Francis’ voice sounded annoyed. 

“Yeah, what time is it?”

“6 am, I’d say. Actually I won’t be able to see you today, Toby. Someone… Someone just trashed my car.” 

A twinge of anxiousness deep inside Toby’s chest, a dire warning. 

“Trashed your car? Where was it?”

“As usual; parked in my private parking lot.”

“They trashed it?”

“With a hammer, a mace, the hell if I know.”

“How bad is it?”

“There’s not much to save, it’s totaled. I guess I should be happy they only trashed the car; I was asleep upstairs, it would’ve been easy to walk up and…”

Toby ran a hand through his hair and sighed. 

“Are you OK?”

“Yes; I have to fly to London, I thought I’d leave on Tuesday, but after this incident I’ll probably take the next flight out.”

“Francis, it was just a kid, playing a wicked game; you’re not in any danger; what is it that worries you that much? I don’t understand.” 

The silence lasted too long; Toby tried to decipher something in it. 

“I don’t like to make accusations without evidence, Toby.”  
“Listen, I don’t really get it. Who do you think did that?” 

The silence again. 

“Francis!”

“Forget about it, it’s stupid. Listen, we’ll talk about that when I’m back, OK?”

“Why does that sound like I’m not going to see you again? I mean…”

“Don’t be absurdly paranoid, Toby. Listen, I have to go; a tow truck is picking up what’s left of the car.” 

“OK. OK, if it’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.” 

Toby was about to hang up a bit too angrily when Francis’ words reached him. 

“By the way, I had a meeting with Keller yesterday; he looked pretty… dazed.” 

The phone went dead but Toby stood like that for a moment, dumbstruck. After a while he made up his mind –he had to know. 

Chris Keller was in New York, in a little theatre, sitting on a chair in front of the stage, his chin on his hands, listening to Andrew Manze playing Tartini’s Devil’s Trill, sweat rolling down his face, his body oscillating with every move he made, the bow dancing madly over the strings. Andrew, sharp nose, big blue eyes and his prominent chin wasn’t exactly alluring but as soon as he’d got a violin under his chin, his left hand holding the neck, he played like the devil–and didn’t the legend say that the devil himself, sitting by Tartini’s bed, had played for the composer this amazing and very difficult sonata? 

Andrew Manze lowered his bow and pointed his chin at Chris. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s brilliant, as usual; exciting, heartfelt… didn’t the BBC music magazine call you ‘the most brilliant young blade of baroque music’? They had a reason to do so.”

“As much as I love being praised, Chris, I’d love you to tell me… Which version did you love most?”

“The last one; I love this way you sharpen the attack of each trill. And you’re excellent in the 3rd movement…”

His phone rang, he smiled at Andrew who was pushing back his glasses on his nose, and answered. 

“Where the fuck are you, Keller?”

“Toby! What a nice surprise. I’m working. What do you want?”

“McKenzie called me; someone destroyed his car last night.” 

Chris sighed, rolled his eyes. 

“Toby, I’m really busy, can I call you back?”

“Don’t need to; I’ll be in town tomorrow, some stuff to look over at Beechers’ Office.” 

They arranged a meeting and hung up; Manze resumed playing, and Chris went on offering wise advice, not even knowing what he was saying. He was gonna see Toby again, face to face, spit out the words which haunted; he’d been sure that his little trick with McKenzie would work; he was sure Toby had nothing to do in town in the middle of December but fuck he needed to see him and he wanted Toby to make the first move. 

They met in a trendy restaurant in Soho; one of those places, Chris thought, that looked like nothing; not really a restaurant, rather a canteen for grown-up elitist pricks; not quite a bar, getting plastered there was a luxury and the drinks weren’t even chilled; not really a gallery, and fuck who could like the shit exhibited here? The room, decorated with huge metallic glassy panels, strange mobiles hanging from the ceiling was crowded and noisy; the music was too loud and anyway PJ Harvey when he was having a drink wasn’t exactly Chris’ idea of happiness. 

But Toby was here. 

“Sorry, the place sucks.”

“Dunno, kind of like it,” Toby said, glancing around. 

Shit. If he’d been in prison, been in Oz, he wouldn’t like it, for sure. He leant forward, playing with his glass. 

“So,” he said in a conversational tone, “You’re fucking good ol’Francis? Suck his dick, take it up the ass and all that? How’s McKenzie in bed, Toby?” 

Toby sat back, wrapped his hands around his cup of coffee. No alcohol for him, not any more.

“You ended our relationship; I supposed you didn’t give a damn about who I fucked,” he said. 

“Well I do, OK? I do. McKenzie? Who else? Your narrow minded gay community icon Neill?”

“Do you want a list? You’ll have to give me some time, Chris, because it’s pretty long,” Toby said with a snort.

Chris’ head was spinning with anger; he hated it all, the mocking gaze, derisive tone… Bitch!

“Don’t play games with me, Toby.”

“We’re done, Chris; I’m using your own words here.” 

/ We’re done but you’re under my skin baby and nothing can take you away; you’re more permanent than the most permanent tattoo… / 

“Are you the one who trashed McKenzie’s car?”

“I could’ve trashed *him*.” 

“He’s a friend.”

“My friends don’t fuck you. I didn’t even smash his head against the wall, which was pretty much what I had in mind when I went to his place. He calls you Toby, fucks you? Who the hell does he think he is?” 

Anger and exasperation were slowly building, hot and dark, in Toby’s belly, Toby’s mind. 

“Listen to me, Chris; I’m sure McKenzie knows you did it; if he presses charges you’re in deep shit…”

“He won’t. No motives, no evidence… Would you testify against me? For ruining a car? After the great job you did to get me out of prison? Come on, don’t be stupid.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, baby and remember, you didn’t put up any fight in that bar, uh? You were fucking hungry for my dick, weren’t you? Is that the way a serious smart lawyer, a father of two young kids, behaves? Tell me, Toby! Who’s the craziest of us both?” 

“You’re going too far, Chris.”

“I’m just trying to warn you when you’re doing wrong. You don’t love McKenzie.”

“When you were in prison he supported you all along, listened to me for hours, never said a word against you.”

“I bet he did, the shameless prick! I’m ready to concede he’s a true Samaritan; but tell me, how come you can take it from a guy you don’t love when you don’t want what I have to give because I don’t love you? What’s fucked up in that?” 

Toby didn’t have time to react, Chris leaned forward, grabbed him by the nape of his neck and dragged him close, pressing their lips together, whispering “Come on, you know that’s the real thing!” 

Before Toby could pull away a voice behind them boomed. 

“Get a fucking room!” 

Chris tensed, his gaze blazing, his face frozen in a chilling smile and he turned away to take a look at the man standing nearby; silence shivering with anger and amazement as Chris rose and walked up to the other guy, moving in for the kill. 

“Gentlemen,” the bartender squealed… And Toby, back to his senses, pulled Chris back, squeezing his arms hard to take him out of whatever madness he was sinking in. 

“Come on, Chris; don’t, don’t do anything you’ll regret; he’s not worth it, come on, let’s go to my hotel, we can talk there.” 

For a few seconds Chris stood absolutely still, growling with rage, shaking his head like a bull about to kill, then turned his eyes to Toby, dazed, veiled, glassy eyes that saw nothing, remembered nothing. 

“Chris, please; let’s go.” 

He seemed to give in and stepped back while the other man’s friend was pulling him back too; and they left. Toby threw some cash on the counter but Chris picked it up and just about spit into the bartender’s face. 

“Fuck this place and fuck you!” 

The ride to Toby’s hotel was silent; Chris curled up against the door, banging his head softly against the cool glass. Toby gave the worried driver a reassuring look and a generous tip. 

Chris spent a long time sitting at the desk in Toby’s room; indifferent, locked far away in an unknown world, tapping his fingers against the wood, following the patterns of the marquetry, his head low; Toby stood by the window, watching the cars below; with the strange feeling he was locked in here with a dangerous but endangered species. The prison had taken his toll on Chris but Toby hadn’t seen it; he didn’t know from the inside what prison was like, smelled like, felt like; he’d been blind to anything that wasn’t just taking Chris out of that hell, no matter how; and meanwhile Chris was slowly drowning. 

Turning to Chris, he looked at him for a moment, uncertain what to do. He was about to say something when Chris talked. 

“McKenzie told me that you’d played my Sonata?”

“Yes; you’d forgotten the sheets in your locker… Sister Pete gave them to me.”  
“Did you see her again?”

“Yes, twice, she’s a smart woman. Anyway I read them and figured out it was from you so I sat in front of Holly’s piano and played it. I thought it was wonderful so I played it again for Fr… McKenzie.” 

Keller sighed.

“I’d better get used to it, I guess? You two being together? Shit, it just shatters my mind you know; the idea of him inside you… You inside him, whatever you’re doing together.” 

Toby took a deep breath.

“We’re not together, Chris. It happened what… three of four times because I was feeling terrible, and I call him Francis, he calls me Toby; OK, what does that prove? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You left me, Chris.”

“I had to! You kept pushing me away because what I had to give wasn’t good enough. I was just out of that place, you’d saved me, I would’ve given my life for you but you didn’t read what you wanted to read on my face when we were fucking.”

“It was just fucking; I thought it was more.”

“I was exhausted and out of my mind; lost and disoriented; I figured fucking was what you wanted.”

“What did *you* want?”

“I don’t know. Sex is always good.” 

Toby rubbed his face against the palms of his hands, trying to clear his mind. 

“You use sex as a weapon; you use sex as a gift; you use sex to reward, punish; you use sex instead of talking.” 

“I don’t like to talk. Listen, after 6 years I thought you’d understand; I don’t talk, I fuck; I don’t explain, I play piano; I won’t change now, it’s too late. Now if you’re gonna try every lousy fuck with a dick to replace me; don’t. I’m better than anyone; I can blow your mind; I want you.” 

Still sitting he grabbed Toby’s arm and pulled him close. 

“Come on, don’t be stupid; you know we both want it.” 

His heat, his breath, his hands on Toby’s shoulders, stroking, pushing him down, pushing him to his knees, between Chris’ legs; strong fingers gripping the sides of Toby’s skull, thumbs rubbing his temples, his lips hovering over Toby’s lips. 

“Do it, Toby; do it for me. Show me you care; do it, we both need it...” 

Soft whisper winding around Toby’s mind like a silky rope, trapping him; a litany to shut up any coherent thought, rob him of any willpower. Mind games. 

Chris popped the flyer of his pants open, freed his cock, rubbed it against Toby’s cheek, pushed it against his lips… 

“Come on, open up, baby; let me in!” 

Toby’s lips parted, welcoming Chris’ cock. 

Warm soft flesh, short coarse hair, the taste and the smell of Chris, his fingers tangled in Toby’s hair, not holding, not pushing, just resting in its silky warmth; Chris mumbling something about not wanting to come in Toby’s mouth, dragging him on the bed, pulling down his pants, stripping him and seeing the change. 

“You worked out; fuck, I can’t believe it.” 

Didn’t seem like the right moment to tell Chris that Neill dragged him to the gym every couple of days, so he just shut up, let the nimble hand wander over his body, his arms, his shoulder, re-learning him, the new him, slimmer, harder, pushing him on his stomach, hard, pinning him there… 

“Lube?”  
“Don’t be stupid!”  
“Got some?”  
“What kind of a slut do you think I am?”  
“The best, baby.” 

Lotion was fine, Chris found a bottle of it in the bathroom; he coated himself with it, hands shaking, Toby’s harsh breathing loud in the room, grabbed the other man’s hips, pulled him close and just –fucked him, making him yell in surprise and pain; one single long thrust, no preparation, nothing, just that, this maddening penetration, nothing subtle or nice. Then Chris stopped, listening to the ragged gasps, groans; closed his eyes, waiting for his heartbeat and Toby’s to slow down, giving him time to get used to him, counting fifty in his head, motionless, his fingertips bruising Toby’s hips. 

“Let’s go,” he said, and moved. Pulled back, pushed forward all the way in, and again, twisting his hips while Toby tried to move back, stilled by merciless hands. 

“Don’t you fucking move; don’t you; it makes me crazy; keep quiet.”

“Chris…”

“Shut the fuck up, OK? It’s my show.” 

And it was, Jesus fucking Christ it was, Toby could barely think or react, thrown back deep into the mattress with each thrust, his hips painful under the hard fingers, his dick rubbing against the soft sheets, Chris’ harsh voice whispering insults and obscenities against his ear until Toby couldn’t take more, begged for release and Chris laughed, twisted his hips once, twice and said “Come.” 

Toby did, fire burning his belly, rushing down his spine, exploding in his cock and he yelled against Chris’ hand… Chris thrust hard one more time before coming too, collapsing on top of him, heavy and limp, refusing to move, an arm under Toby’s neck, the other one locked around his waist. 

Long before dawn, a ray of sun crawled over the carpet, climbed the bed and played along Toby’s jaw, waking him up, sore, exhausted, crushed under Chris’ weight, blood pounding in his head. 

/ I have to leave. Right now. / 

He pushed Chris softly off him and got up, grabbed his discarded clothes, crawling under the bed to retrieve his lost sock. 

Two hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him back hard, his skin rubbing against the thick carpet, burning, the pain rushing through his veins; he landed on the mattress, his head hitting the night table. 

“Were you fucking walking away from me?” 

Cool voice, cool smile, ruthless grip around his wrists pulling them above his head while he was trying to take over. 

“Don’t you, bitch.”

“Chris; don’t. You’re hurting me.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t give a damn… Answer my question; were you walking away?”

“You said we were done.”

“Fucking answer me, you stubborn cunt! To which of your lovers were you gonna run? Katherine? Neill? Fucking McKenzie?”

“Stop that! I promised the kids I’d be home tonight.”

“Did you? Well, guess what? You won’t make it, baby. You’re staying with me one more day.”

“Let go of me, Chris; you can’t hold me back if I don’t want to!” 

Wrong move, wrong words, wrong tone; Chris’ eyes darkened under the storm, his mouth twitched in his oh-so-polite scary smile. 

“I think I can. I just decided I will.” 

Later Toby remembered calling his father to tell him he had some unfinished business, wouldn’t be back in time and would he mind keeping the kids one more day; and Chris held Toby’s arm painfully twisted behind his back all along; remembered one whole day and one night of frenzy, what Chris called “sexual experiments” in a soft mocking tone that chilled Toby, scared him; remembered loving it all, and wanting more; remembered waking in the morning so wasted he couldn’t get up; Chris already getting dressed and walking to the door with this wide lazy stride of his, turning to Toby. 

“Don’t fuck around, Toby. Be a good boy.” 

He remembered sleeping through the day, flying home in a haze of shame and anger, lying to everyone, pretending to be sick, hiding in his room, waiting for the marks and bruises to fade. 

Two weeks later Chris played in Boston for a charity; his first concert after so long and to Toby who’d expected a dark and haunted interpretation of Grieg maybe or Stravinsky it was a bitter surprise to hear a subtle and ethereal version of Chopin, no less, and Brahms. He listened incredulously to the thunder of applauses at the end, looked for something he didn’t find on Chris’ quiet and happy expression. 

He switched off the TV and threw the control across the room, yelling “Fucking bastard!” 

“I think I won’t see him again, I don’t even want to,” he told Sister Pete on the phone, his voice shaky. 

And for three years, he didn’t.

tbc...

 


	14. allegro furioso

Acciaccatura - 14 - Allegro furioso

**************

“What the hell possessed me when I agreed to be part of this?” Chris said, restless. 

“From what I remember it was a bet you made and you lost,” his neighbor answered with a mocking smile.

“Smart-ass.”

That made François-René laugh out loud.

François Duchâble had been a friend of Chris since the early days; one of those who’d kept defending him when he was in prison, one of those who wouldn’t believe his friend had killed a man, no matter the suspicions and the evidence built up against him. 

Chris stretched his legs under the table and got ready to listen to the next candidate, the last one hopefully because he didn’t think he’d be able to sit here one more minute without punching something or someone. 

“C’est une enfant,” François said in Chris’ ear and Chris who took some pride in speaking absolutely no other language than his own and Italian understood nonetheless. A kid. A little girl of… Eleven? Twelve? Long blond hair tied neatly behind her head, clear blue eyes and… Fuck. Chris watched her sit behind the piano, very straight, very serious. Too serious, he thought. Too young. She brushed long thin hands against the keys and did something no other candidate had done yet; smiled a bright sunny smile, so familiar that Chris leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest. 

The candidates didn’t have any choice in the program. François Duchâble had chosen three “themes and variations” by Fauré; sensible choice for a difficult selection. The little girl was surprisingly good; too young maybe to convey all the subtleties and nuances of such a highly difficult piece but good enough to give Chris a thrill of excitement; perfect technique and a lot of feeling. 

“She’s great,” he told his neighbor and on his right, the director of the theatre nodded. 

“I didn’t think she’d come; her father was very reluctant but the girl put up somewhat of a fight and she won.” 

Color me surprised, Chris thought, double checking the name on the program. 

“Is her father here?”

“No, I think her great grandmother accompanied her.” 

A last bow to the jury and the little girl left; Chris walked down the stairs to the hall. 

“Mrs Beecher?” 

Cordelia heard the call, the voice, the footsteps behind her and let go of Holly’s hand. 

“Mrs Beecher, I’d like to talk to you, please. About Holly.” 

Christ she looked like an old duchess granting a special favor to a humble subordinate; She gave him a thoughtful look; but then she smiled and it was Toby’s smile on her face too, in spite of the wrinkles and the visible weariness. She nodded and a minute later they were sitting in the foyer of the theatre, drinking tea, coffee and chocolate for Holly whose eyes didn’t leave Chris’ face. 

“Holly won’t win; there’s that young Chinese player who’s everyone’s favourite.”

“Yours too?”

“Yes but I think Holly’s potential is much bigger.” 

He saw the little girl blush and smiled. 

“You’ll be a great pianist if you work hard enough.”

“Thank you,” Cordelia said and giving a look at Holly “Would you leave us alone for a second, honey, please? I see that this English boy you met yesterday is smiling at you.” 

They watched her leave. 

“How’s Gary?”

“Fine; he’s doing fine, thank you.”

“Good. Listen, I don’t want you to believe that I’m doing this because I feel like I owe Toby. I do, all right but I wouldn’t let this interfere with music; piano is the only sacred thing I know. Holly’s very good. Is Toby still teaching her?” 

“Yes. He thinks she’s too young to work with anyone else; and Toby’s a very good pianist. Did you ever listen to him?” 

“I listened to a tape some years ago but he never played for me.” 

“Such a shame. He wanted to be a pianist as a kid and he was as gifted as Holly is but… I’m afraid we somewhat discouraged him. Toby gave up most of his dreams while growing up; managed to convince himself that playing for fun was best for him.” 

“Is he trying to discourage Holly too?” 

“I don’t know; he’d tell you he doesn’t but sometimes he tells her what it’s like to be a professional musician and it scares her.”

“He didn’t want her to compete, did he?” 

“No. I insisted and Holly was very adamant; she’s a stubborn and strong little girl. But you weren’t supposed to be in the jury, were you? Toby would never have agreed then.” 

“I took someone’s place, but maybe it happened for some reason.” Chris took a deep breath. “I’d like to talk to Toby about Holly.” 

Cordelia Beecher’s look lingered on Chris’ hard features; trying to read the thoughts hidden behind. 

“Please, Mrs Beecher; it’s important.”

“Ah, all right…He’ll be here tomorrow morning; he called me earlier and told me he’d take a late flight tonight,” she said. 

“Thank you; I could take Holly to meet him at the airport.” 

Smart man, Cordelia thought and smiled, Chris smiling back. 

“That would be great! I’m sure he’d be delighted.” 

Well let’s hope so, Chris thought. 

Lousy flight, Toby thought as he walked across the hall, lousy town, lousy weather; hope Holly did well; not that I want to feel proud but because she was so excited about it and she’s still so young and… 

“Earth to Toby Beecher?” 

He froze at the sound of the voice like a trained pointer and turned his head to look at the man standing three feet in front of him. 

“Daddy!” Holly threw herself in Toby’s arms, warm and silky load. 

/ my precious little girl. / 

“Daddy it was great; Mr Keller says I’ll be a great pianist if you only let me!” 

She looked delighted, pink cheeks, shining blue eyes and he saw her give Chris an adoring look. 

“Oh and what makes Mr Keller believe I won’t let you?” He said, glaring at Chris “and what the fuck are you doing here, by the way?” 

“Good morning Toby, I’m glad to see you too.” 

“Fuck that.” 

“OK; I was persuaded to take someone’s place, lost a wager, whatever. I listened to Holly yesterday; she did great; great technique, great feeling, great confidence. After that I can as well retire, next generation’s ready.” 

Toby looked down to his daughter and felt fear and bitterness and anger… I don’t want to lose her. 

“Do you seriously think I’d let you lay a single finger on my daughter?” he said with cold anger, blazing eyes, his face pale with sickness. Chris didn’t understand at first; then he stepped back, looking shocked. 

Toby’s look didn’t waver. Does that hurt, fucker? Does that hurt you as much as it hurt me 3 years ago? I hope it does. 

“How can you… How can you imagine I would… Toby…” 

“I know what you’re capable of, Chris; you’re capable of anything. Now come on, Holly, let’s go, grand-mother’s waiting.” 

Chris saw the little girl give Toby a weak smile, saw her puzzled gaze; then she grabbed her father’s hand and left, trying to follow Toby’s wide stride. 

Later he was shoving his stuff in his suitcase when Toby walked into his room unannounced. 

“Beat it,” Chris said, his voice shaking with rage. 

“I’m sorry I implied…” 

“Too late. You did. How did you say that? I’m capable of anything, even of abusing your little girl. Now fuck off, Toby.” 

“Chris…” 

“No. Not this time; don’t even try; you spoke the words in front of her, Toby; how’s that for an insult?” 

“I was shocked; I didn’t intend to see you, it’s been three fucking years, Chris and when I saw the way she looked at you…” 

“Doesn’t matter, Toby; we’re done anyway. Let me give you an advice, now, before I leave. Don’t do to her what your parents did to you; Holly’s got a dream, don’t kill it; remember what your life was like before they killed yours.” 

“I remember how it was when you killed mine, Keller. “

“Fucking bitch.”

Chris threw his bag over his shoulder and walked past him; Toby didn’t try to stop him; he didn’t think he’d be able to. 

I fucked up. Congratulations, Toby. 

********************************

It was the first of a series of five, five concerts in 7 days; two dates in New York as a coronation. Difficult program, exhausting schedule but Chris was at his best from the first day, looking like he was about to pounce on the piano, muscles bulging under the tight white shirt, sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose; his talent dragging a stunned audience in a whirlpool of passion. Rachmaninov, Brahms and Scriabin and in the end a very nostalgic piece by Debussy, to show once for all that subtlety and sensitivity weren’t out of his reach. 

There he was, engrossed in the music, his shoulders hunched, his fingers stroking the keyboard with unusual softness, pulling the sweetest and purest emotion and when the last note had finished dying Keller let his hands slide off the keyboard regretfully, staying absolutely still, lost in a faraway world; and no one even dared to applause before he raised his head again and looked around with a tentative smile.

That night Chris Keller received the loudest and longest ovation of his whole career and those who were close enough thought maybe they’d seen him wipe away a tear.

He didn’t stay late at the party, walked up to his lodge, read some cards, asked a woman from the staff to get him rid of the flowers that crowded the little room and was about to leave when he saw him standing at the door. Too slim, his hair too short, dressed in a rumpled suit, looking too awfully young like that. 

“Who the fuck let you in?”  
“No one. I just slid in,” Toby said in a thick voice.

Young and very drunk, Chris realized, coming closer, smelling the booze all over Toby. Drunk and out of his mind and already lost; lips parted, breath too short, eyes too bright, hands shaking. Chris pulled him inside and slammed the door, locked it while Toby stood there, looking around, his hands in his pockets.

Well when did he ever turn down a good fuck? Especially when it was so openly offered?

They didn’t say one more word; Chris just stripped Toby out of his clothes without much finesse, pushed him against the little sofa, down to the floor on his knees, refusing to think about what that all meant and knelt behind him, pulling his pants down, freeing his cock while Toby pushed his ass back against the hot hardness.

“Slut,” Chris said and retrieved some cream he’d put on a bruise, sooner; hoping that would do; well anything was better than a dry fuck, anyway.

“Here we go,” he said in Toby’s ear and felt him shiver, stiffen, waiting. 

Chris pushed his cock forward mercilessly; Toby’s flesh felt like a tight sheath around his cock. Too impatient, too angry, he didn’t give him any time to adjust, thrusting fast and hard, hearing Toby’s breath catch painfully and thrusting, losing his mind, desire burning him like a devastating fire, his fingers bruising the slim hips to keep Toby still, setting the pace, until he couldn’t hold back anymore and came, wrapping his fingers around Toby’s cock, squeezing hard, listening to Toby’s desperate moan, hot come splashing his hand…

“You like that, uh?”

“Fuck yes.”

Shameless cunt.

Chris rose and walked out to take a leak. When he came back Toby was asleep on the sofa. Shit; what am I supposed to do now? He managed to wake him up just enough to dress him up, shoved him into a cab and Toby seemed to remember the name of the hotel where he was staying; looked like some fresh air had sobered him a bit. Or maybe it was the sex.

Jesus it’s official; I have a groupie. He wanted to laugh about it, feel the sweet taste of revenge but failed; just felt tired and worried. Before leaving his hotel suite shortly after dawn he tried to call Toby’s room but got no answer; probably Beecher was sleeping it off. 

That morning Toby woke up late.

“Fuck!”

He rolled on his side, winced, his body hurting like all hell, sore and bruised and what the hell had he been doing, exactly? Closing his eyes he tried to remember. Remembered actually deciding to drink himself stupid; the bar where he’d spent the evening but after that… Nada. Niente. Nichts. Nothing at all. But, he thought, sitting carefully on the bed, feeling the room spin around him and nausea strike, his body obviously remembered. He stumbled to the bathroom, stood in front of the big mirror.

“Fuck!”

Which was probably the right word considering the bruises on his hips, the side of his thighs and his shoulders. His knees were burning and his ass…

“Fuck!”

Now he remembered; well not all the embarrassing details, but the breath against the nape of his neck and the rough thrust and the delirious pleasure and… Ah great, Beecher, that was just brilliant.

He managed to shower; threw up twice without feeling better, got dressed and went down to the hall.

“How did I come back here last night?” he asked the puzzled clerk.  
“I don’t know, Sir; I wasn’t here last night; do you want me to ask?”  
“Please.”

Toby seemed on the verge of collapsing and the young clerk gave him a worried look.

“From what I know a taxi took you back and the driver had been tipped to make sure you’d get to your room safely. You looked a little…”  
“Yes I guess how I looked like. Thank you.”

Just walking back to his room made him nauseated. He sat in front of the phone thinking he should call but didn’t. Call and then say what?

Eventually he stretched out on his bed and tried to get some more sleep.

Later in the morning just as he was about to board the plane, Chris got a worried call from McKenzie. 

“Beecher’s office phoned this morning; Toby just… left, a week ago or so and no one heard of him since then.”

Was it worry or wariness Chris was hearing in McKenzie’s voice? He wasn’t sure.

“Tobias Beecher’s a grown up man; I suppose he has the right to spend some time on his own.”  
“Actually it’s a little more complex; he vanished after losing an easy case he was pleading; his brother and his father tried to call him to know exactly what had happened but he didn’t answer his phone.”  
“Yeah, and then what? He lost cases already; he tends to lose easy cases a lot; you know that. Come on, he’s hiding somewhere, nursing his wounded pride. That’s Toby, right?”  
“The case was a big one; the client is furious.”  
“Yeah?” Chris shrugged, “and why do you tell me that? Why should I care?”  
“I wondered if you’d seen him.”  
“No; and if I had I wouldn’t call the Beecher family, anyway. Anything else?”  
“Well… I guess not.”

An idea struck Chris as he was about to hang up.

“I’m surprised he left the kids for a whole week, though.”  
“They’re in Europe with their grandparents; Toby’s parents in law.”

Aw Toby, Chris thought, what the fuck is going on?

Around the same time, after a long shower, several cups of coffee and a lot of painkillers Toby packed his clothes. At noon he left his room, not too sure about what he’d be doing after that, where he’d go; settled the bill and asked for a cab.

“Mr Beecher, someone called and left a message, just a moment ago,” the clerk said.

Toby unfolded a small sheet of paper and frowned.

“Calling McKenzie would be nice; just to let him know I didn’t whack you in a dark alley; looks like the Beecher family got a little worried about you. Chris.”

And with the note was a by-pass for the next concerts.

A little peace offering.

Four nights later he was in New York, listening to Chris, something he should’ve been used to but yet stunned at how wonderful the music sounded; emotions pouring out of the piano, Chris’ profile chiseled by the lights falling down on him. In the audience the complete silence, and silence still when Chris finished Debussy… When the applauses exploded, flowers raining all over the stage Toby was grabbed by behind, pulled back further into the wings.

“Where the hell were you all those days?” McKenzie’s voice in Toby’s ear sounded upset, he was shaking Toby like a disobedient kid, his eyebrows furrowed, indifferent to the triumph greeting Keller’s genius.

“I took a break. What the hell? Can’t a man just spend some days on his own?”

“Ten days? It doesn’t look like you at all; your family was about to call the cops and I myself…”

Toby freed himself brutally, pushed Francis back.

“You what? What right do you have to step into my life and talk to me like that.”  
“Believe it or not but I was worried about you; I thought maybe something bad had happened. I heard that Chris Keller and you had a fight about Holly some weeks ago and…”  
“Don’t. Don’t you dare talk that; you don’t know shit about Keller and I, never did. So what? You thought he’d slit my throat? Is that it?”

For a second McKenzie was taken off guard; he looked around, hesitating; like a believer about to commit a sacrilege.

“I always suspected Keller to be the one who trashed my car 4 years ago because of you; because he was jealous.”

Beecher snorted.

“And even so; it makes a big difference, you know; trashing a car isn’t the same as killing someone.”

McKenzie sighed.

“Always defending him, uh? He can do whatever he wants, he’s always right.”

Ah that hurt; that really did hurt and when the curtain opened upon Chris Toby nearly ran away, but a strong hand grabbed his arms and he was pulled, pushed, half-carried up the stairs and thrown upon the bed...

“So,” Chris’ voice said against his ear, “let’s take things where we left them.”

“So what the fuck happened?” Chris asked.

“What do you mean?”  
“OK. You don’t want to talk about it?”  
“There’s nothing to say. I send my resignation to the Beecher practice…”  
“Because of that case you lost?”  
“Fuck the case. I’m just fed up with the life I’ve been living for the last 30 years, period. I decided to make some changes.”  
“Meaning get drunk and the rest?”  
“Do we *have* to talk?”

Chris laughed.

“I didn’t think I’d hear those words from you one day. Has fucking become your only field of interest, lately? Not that I complained but some weeks ago it seemed to be my specialty.”

Toby stiffened and closed his eyes.

“I never implied that.”  
“The fuck you did.”  
“No. What I implied was that if I let you teach Holly, I’d lose her. I already lost a lot of people; I don’t wanna lose her.”  
“You will, whatever you do. The choice you have is let her go or try to keep her until she fights hard enough to be set free. She has a life to live; so have you. Come on, you know you have to. And you’re lying, Toby, to me, and to yourself –or maybe just to me. You implied much worse than that.”

Toby opened shiny eyes, tears clinging to his eyelashes and Chris looked away; the sight of a man crying had something deeply obscene, one of the worst things he’d ever seen.

“OK, I implied worse. Can we just stop talking, now, please?”  
“I don’t even deserve an apology, then?”  
“When it comes to you apologies aren’t enough; and I have nothing more to offer; until I do I propose we just keep things the way we have it now.”

Chris sighed.

“You’re one tough bastard. OK then, just tell me how good I was tonight.”  
“I especially loved the Debussy part, it was…”  
“No, not that. In bed. My ego needs a little boosting.”  
“You got an ego the size of King Kong; if I boost it you’re going to explode.”  
“I take it you liked it.”

Toby stretched, glanced at the clock.

“I have to go, I want to be home before Gen’s parents bring the kids back.”

“Toby if you stop working in your father’s practice, what are you going to do?”

“Tell you what? I don’t have the slightest idea. But no more legal stuff; I’m done with that; I didn’t want to do it from the beginning; I should’ve fought harder long ago. I don’t know; Susan thinks I should run a gallery somewhere and take care of her work but I’m fed up to work for others and especially Susan, or you; fed up to be the man you need by your side to make things possible, tired to live in someone else’s shadow. I want to live for myself.”

“Wow, for someone who didn’t want to talk, that was quite long.”

“Fuck you.”

“Done already. When will I see you again?”

“You know what, Keller? You call and if I’m available, I’ll be there.”

Chris listened to the water running down, thought maybe he’d join but didn’t, feeling tired; watched Toby as he got dressed.

“We have to find a way to spend more time together, Toby; I’m not getting any younger. Why not spend a month in Italy with me from time to time?”  
“I’ll think about it.”  
“In bed.”  
“I’ll think about it very seriously.”  
“No business. Just sex and reading and… Holidays?”  
“I said I’d think about it.”

Toby was almost dressed up when Chris pounced, standing between him and the door.

“Don’t drink again and if you need to fuck, call me.”  
“OK.”  
“Please don’t forget me.”  
“I won’t. I spent 3 years trying hard; you’re a very difficult man to forget and not only for the sex.”  
“Even so don’t forget me. Time runs by very slowly without you; I get easily bored.”

Holding out his hand he grabbed Toby’s wrist.

Toby looked at him for a long time, gave him one of those smiles which pulled up the left corner of his mouth; self deprecating hesitant smile and nodded.

“I’ll call you.”  
“If you don’t I’ll sleep in front of your door and howl.”

Toby looked down at the nimble fingers locked loosely around his wrist and snorted.

“Please don’t. I have neighbors and some ragged remains of reputation.”  
“And let Holly take the way she’s made for.”  
“OK, now you fucking let me go. I’ll do that; I’ll call you.”

Chris’ fingers slid along his arm very slowly in a lingering caress, freeing Toby at last. He smiled.

“You’d better. Don’t forget; I’m capable of anything, you said it yourself,” he said, his voice very low running a shiver down Toby’s spine.

“See you.”  
“See you, Toby.”

He watched Toby walk out, open the door, turn to him and smile again; smiled back. Then the door closed and Toby was gone. But he’d call. He’d said he would and Toby always held his promises.

Tbc…  



	15. End of the show

**************

It took Toby four more years before he saw his relation with Keller for what it was; a failure, a dead end street, an endless fight interrupted with fiery reconciliations, blazing make-up sex to cauterize the wounds. Obviously, he thought (and it probably had to mean something that so many people around thought the same way) music would be Keller’s real love for as long as he’d live and for as long as he’d live he’d need meaningless casual sex to relieve the pressure. Toby had lured himself into the idea that coming next was good enough. It wasn’t. Someone more patient, someone wiser would be able to live like this; he wasn’t. Psychological instability, sudden anger, incomprehensible blames and silence and… He couldn’t take it. 

So they broke it off. It seemed the right thing to do, before they killed each other, exhausted each other, got so tired of each other that all that would be left was loathing. And when Toby said the heart-wrenching final words, he saw something in Chris’ eyes that looked suspiciously like relief. 

They spat venom at each other because they knew each other’s weakness so well and because that’s what they did anyway… 

And the die was cast. 

For good. No turning back, no regrets; what had been wasn’t anymore and it had been a whole year now. 

Toby was sitting in his living room, reading, and Chris was… Well wherever he was, in a concert hall somewhere in the world , facing an enthusiastic audience. After the show he’d pick up someone, anyone who’d look young and willing enough and fuck her, or him; then leave for another place and do it all over again. During the summer he’d settle in Tuscany and Susan would join him with Harry and they’d spend a peaceful summer there, while he, Toby, would be somewhere else, as far as possible. 

Two separate lives. 

And it was fine that way. Toby still worked at his father’s practice, and every Friday night he took a flight to New York and spent some time with McKenzie who was a considerate lover; they didn’t talk about Chris. Yeah. Real fine. 

Except… _Come on_ _Beecher_ _, you can fool everyone but you can’t fool yourself_ … 

He felt empty. Hollowed. This infatuation had stolen the best of him; his desire to live, his ability to laugh and feel and love. From time to time he thought of picking up the phone and calling Chris, just to hear his voice, chat about anything, make sure he was still part of the world somewhere but his resolution never went further than typing Chris’ number; then give up. Call him? What for? From time to time he heard about him on TV, on the radio, read about him in a paper, a magazine; looked at the picture or the video, wondering if this was still the man he’d loved and yes, he was; the look, the smile, the gestures; he could make out Keller’s body under the clothes, the strong, muscular lean body he used to consider as his and the void inside him widened, deepened, threatening to swallow him. 

Then the cell phone rang –again, jolting Toby out of his thought; and he sighed. 

***************************** 

“I’m worried about Toby,” Francis McKenzie told Chris next time they met; in London before a charity concert at the Albert Hall –the royal family was expected; Keller didn’t look more nervous for all that. He didn’t even look up; his behavior with McKenzie oscillated between cold indifference and polite hostility. 

“Yeah? Don’t be,” he said “Toby’s strong enough; he’ll be OK.” 

Self-absorbed moron… Francis sighed. “It’s not about you, Keller,” he said, “It’s just that lately he’s been worried. Something bothers him but he won’t tell me.” 

“Do you fuck him?” Chris asked, never taking his eyes from the keyboard, his fingers dancing over it, brushing against the keys with stunning virtuosity. He was playing Schumann, something light and brisk; something he’d play later for a very rich and boring audience. 

“I don’t see what…” 

“Well if you do you should be able to fuck the truth out of him. If you’re good enough. Are you good enough, Francis?” 

Keller’s voice was light and easy; indifferent, kind of “leave me alone with it” but the words were meant to hurt; Mc Kenzie wanted to ask him if this was an insult –then he thought better of it. Keller, as odious as he was, was under contract with him for three more years, and, Francis hoped, longer still; he was an invaluable artist. Better not ruin what was, all in all, a profitable association. Besides, he had to get that worry off his chest. 

“Someone keeps calling him on his cell phone and Toby doesn’t say a word; I asked him who it was, he shrugged and said he didn’t know, something telling him bullshit. He didn’t want to look worried, but I know better.” 

Keller struck a last key, raised his head and looked at McKenzie with a hard expression on his face. 

“OK, listen. Beecher and I are *done*; it’s over. I don’t talk to him and he doesn’t talk to me; there’s nothing between us anymore. Did you think it was me calling him?” 

McKenzie shook his head. 

“No. And let me tell you, I’d rather have *you* stalking him than that son of a bitch. I just thought maybe you could call him, try to get him to talk to you; he always talked to you; I’m sure he would.” 

“Yeah? Well I’m sorry to disappoint but Beecher ’s not my fucking business anymore.” 

“I thought that in the name of what there was between you… all these years…” 

Keller’s gaze hardened and McKenzie took a step back. 

“No. Am I clear? Do it yourself, that’s what a lover is for. I don’t give a fuck about Beecher .” 

And before Francis could say anything he started playing something loud and lively that cut short any attempt at continuing this conversation. 

********************************** 

At 4 am the phone rang –again; Toby woke up with a jolt, wanting to yell in exasperation and maybe fear. The stalker had called in the evening already, and the cold threatening voice was still echoing in his ears… So he wouldn’t answer this time, he’d bury his head under the pillow… But of course he didn’t because he didn’t want the kids to wake up; he knew that Holly sensed something was wrong and he didn’t want to worry her. 

“Toby?” 

It took Toby a second to realize whose voice it was, warm and sounding so close. 

“Thank God it’s you.” 

“Why? Who did you expect it to be? The mysterious stalker?” 

Toby rubbed his eyes and sat up, trying to get a hold on his conflicting emotions. 

“Keller do you have any idea of the time?” 

“In my part of the world it’s 2 pm , so I’d say it’s about 4 am for you. Sorry, Beecher, I had a break so I thought I’d call you; McKenzie’s worried and he won’t leave me alone, nearly bored me to death yesterday; told me I had to make you spill your guts about something. Come on, I’m listening.” 

“What the fuck … What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“He said someone was stalking you. Is that true?” 

“No; yes… It’s nothing.” 

“Yeah? ‘Thank God it’s you’” Chris said, mimicking Toby’s relieved tone “that didn’t sound like nothing to me.” 

_God damn the man and his sharp mind._

“Who is it?” 

“The fuck if I know.” 

“Did you tell the police?” 

“Not yet. I changed my phone number but he one way or another he keeps calling.” 

“What does he say?” 

Toby sighed that particular sighs that meant he was embarrassed and didn’t want to talk. 

“Come on, Toby, don’t be stupid. Death threats?” 

“Once, yes.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ. And?” 

“Listen, I don’t think you have to get involved in this, it’s just some stupid stuff; he’ll grow tired of it.” 

There was a silence, and Keller’s voice, cold. 

“It’s about me. Something about me? Isn’t it?” 

Ah, shit. He shouldn’t have answered the phone after all. 

“You know, Keller, the world doesn’t revolve around you,” he says with a derisive snort. 

“The hell about that… Is the fucker talking about me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Care to explain?” 

“He says he’s one of your victims’ relatives; that I saved you from a well deserved fate and that I’ll be punished for it. Then you.” 

“So the bastard’s threatening us both and you didn’t feel like you’d tell me?” 

“Did he call you? No? So I’d say it’s mainly about me.” 

_… And I didn’t want to upset you; I knew how you’d react._

“Toby…” Threatening tone and Toby pretended to surrender. 

“OK; I’ll call the cops, right?” 

“Yeah, like the stupid *cops* are gonna do something! Did you save his messages?” 

“No.” 

“You’re that dull, aren’t you? Do you think you’re gonna handle that alone?” 

“They’re just phone calls, nothing more.” 

Keller knew how stubborn Beecher could be, he knew that his own magic didn’t work so well with him, that Beecher was somewhat immune to his voice and his mind games and his clever tricks, knew them all; maybe Toby was right but Chris’ instinct was telling him something different; so he just talked some more, pretended to be resigned, to give up, and hung up. 

An hours later he was at Warwick airport; it was past 10 pm when a taxi stopped in front of Beecher ’s door and Keller walked out, gave a look around. It was a cold evening of February, no one to be seen; he pushed the door of Beecher ’s garden and it wasn’t even locked; would that kill Toby to just lock the fucking door? Christ. He listened to the bell ring inside - footsteps; and Toby was facing him, looking stunned. 

“Shit he’s ageing well” was Keller’s first thought. How old now? 43? Yeah, must be around that but he really didn’t show his age, slim and elegant, hair blond as before, maybe some grey strands here and there, eyes paler than he remembered and … fuck that; he hadn’t come here to lose himself in the contemplation of Beecher’s hotness. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Hello, Beecher , I’m glad to see you too. Mind if I come in?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, pushed Beecher aside, a hand against his chest, feeling Beecher ’s pounding heart against his palm and not wanting to let go. 

“I thought I’d come listen by myself. I don’t trust you on that. Did you call the police?” 

“No.” 

“Fine. Let’s see. Did he call again?” 

“Listen, Chris…” 

“Chris? Oh, I’m Chris again, then? Not just Keller-walking-dick? Or however you called me last time?” 

Beecher felt very tired suddenly, he thought, “I have to sit down; fast.” And just when he did, the phone rang and Chris picked it up; listened, focused, his lips stretching in a feral smile that didn’t belong to this world, and it wasn’t the musician, the artist, but the other one, the one Beecher didn’t want to think about. He saw that through a haze of pain because when the phone rang, his whole chest was caught in a vice-like grip, something tight and painful, crushing his heart, drilling through his left shoulder, along his arm, his jaw; and he couldn’t talk, it was too late, he realized, fuck it was much too late and Chris turned to him… 

Before Toby passed out he knew he was dying; last thing he was aware of was the warm and strong embrace of Keller’s arms and blue eyes looking deep in his. Not a bad way to go, after all. 

******************************* 

In the hospital waiting room there’s a man sitting, head in hands, waiting. He’s been here for six hours now, indifferent to anything around him, deaf to people talking to him, barely registering the old couple who came earlier, crying, sitting two seats further and glancing at him from time to time. They’re waiting too and when the doc walks out of the emergency room, the three of them rise. 

“He’s through,” he says, taking off his gloves, “A chance we could intervene fast enough.” 

Ten minutes, that’s what it took to the emergency services to be there and then… 

Keller is livid, his eyes closed, leaning against the wall, muttering something under his breath. Thank God, maybe. 

“Can we see him?” The woman –Toby’s mother- asks. 

“Yes, but he’s barely conscious and he needs to rest… 5 minutes and don’t make him talk. He’s still very weak.” 

He’s alive. Toby’s alive. Thank God he’s not dead. 

But when the woman turns to ask if he wants to come with them Keller shakes his head wordlessly and walks away. 

Because there’s something he has to do and he has to do it now. If he’s fast enough he’ll be back to London for the second concert just in time. If he’s fast. If he doesn’t get caught. But he won’t. Not this time. And when it’s all over he’ll come back here and have a little chat with Beecher because the last seven hours were truly the worst in his whole sorry life and there’s no way that he loses him again. 

*********************************** 

_“FBI ex-special agent Pierce Taylor committed suicide a week ago. Agent_ _Taylor_ _had been suspended from office three years ago after the court established his misconduct in Chris Keller’s case. His brother told us that_ _Taylor_ _never recovered from the sanction; he was deeply depressed and spent two months in a psychiatric hospital; he was still treated for depression when he finally threw himself through the window of his apartment in the_ _Queens_ _. The police concluded that it was a suicide… Agent_ _Taylor_ _was aged 50…His career…”_

Toby put the paper down and leant back against the pillow, closing his eyes. 

******************************** 

They probed, checked and tested him over and over before telling him he could leave. His heart was fine, the accident had been caused by a blocked artery –that particular problem had been solved and now he was to resume a normal life –sports, diet… Still it felt strange to be back home, alive and well, after what he’d been through. He felt like a miraculous survivor; a little… lost. And nothing really looked the same. 

His father wanted Toby to take some time off –months- before coming back to work; money wasn’t a problem and for the first time Harrison Beecher managed to show his son how much he loved him and cared for him. Holly left for Paris Conservatoire and Harry for college. Toby was alone; he’d told McKenzie during one of the man’s countless visits that as pleasant as it had been he didn’t feel like resuming their affair and it had been an amicable, if a little sad, breaking off. He saw Katherine from time to time and avoided Neill as much as possible. 

A very quiet and retired life. 

Three months later Keller called. 

“I wanna see you; talk to you,” he said, not even asking for news and sounding like a very nervous Keller. 

“All right. Whatever.” 

And now he was sitting on the new leather couch beside Toby, his eyes not leaving Toby’s face. 

“The fucker will leave you alone now,” he said, the ghost of that fearful smile stretching his lips. 

“I gathered that much… Suicide, huh?” 

“Well, yeah. I’m glad the bastard’s dead; he deserved it.” 

He deserved it and what do *you* deserve, then, Toby wondered. But Keller’s logic, or lack thereof, didn’t work like anyone else’s. As long as you didn’t get caught, as long as you proved to be smarter, stronger, better, you deserved life and freedom. Remorse was for the faint of heart. 

“What did you come for?” Toby said finally. He didn’t ask why Keller hadn’t visited him before, at the hospital; he didn’t need to; his aversion for the place was not a secret. 

Of course Keller didn’t answer straight away. 

“Where are the kids?” 

Toby told him, half expecting a snarky retort; so after all he agreed to let Holly go? Just… not with big bad Keller? But Keller only nodded. 

“We’re alone, then. What did the doctors tell you?” 

“About what?” 

“Physical efforts.” 

There we go, Toby thought, his mind racing to find the best way to tell Keller that there was no way he’d give in to him again; but his traitorous body shivering already at the thought. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean fucking. I missed fucking you; I’ve been thinking about fucking you every fucking day; maybe not even fucking, just kissing… kissing you. Touching you. God. I’ve been missing that so much.” 

Toby knew that look; he saw the usual hunger there and something else… 

“Chris…” 

“No. Listen. Listen carefully. My contract with McKenzie runs for three more years and I don’t think even you will find a way to set me free sooner; I’m already booked for a hundred dates all over the world and three records at least. But after that I don’t intend to renew it.” 

“You mean not with McKenzie.” 

“I mean not with anyone. I…” Keller rose and began pacing the room, suddenly stopping by the window, talking to the garden outside, his back on Toby. 

“That day, when you… I thought you wouldn’t make it, Toby” he said in a tight low voice “I thought I’d lost you; I thought you were dead, I thought about all the moments we’d had together, about the time we’d lost. I… I promised God that if he saved you I’d stay by your side, give up everything else.” 

*This* was very fucking stupid. 

“Chris… God didn’t save me. The doctors did and the hell if I want to shoulder the responsibility for being the one who stopped your career; besides…” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Chris walked back to Toby, pulled him up, those long fingers squeezing his shoulders hard enough to bruise and shook him lightly “Shut the fuck up, Toby, I made my decision and you won’t be held responsible for anything. I’m fed up with this life; I’ve been living it for too long. Fed up of those people watching me; fed up of playing this music for morons who don’t understand half of it; don’t have any idea of what it means to me. I’m fed up with interviews and whoring myself to sell records I don’t give a damn about. I’m rich enough; I don’t need to do what I don’t want to. I want to be free. And all this time without you… I want a life, Toby; a real one.” 

Chris’ dark and haunted eyes silenced Toby; the grip around his shoulders loosened and he was wrapped in a fierce embrace, Chris’ voice muffled and urgent, his lips so close from Toby’s that he could feel the words rather than hear them. 

“I’m tired, Toby. I hate the idea of you with anyone else; I hated that prick McKenzie just for having you. Other people don’t matter that much. Susan won’t be back, I think I managed to upset her for good and the truth is that I don’t care. The only person I care for is you.” 

There was a name for this, Toby thought, a medical description for it; he should be worried; the single minded bastard was crazy. Maybe dangerous. But he was too and besides he’d missed Chris so fucking much that it didn’t worry him as much as it should have. 

“If you’d died…” Chris’ voice broke suddenly and he kissed Toby, hard, deep, moaning against his mouth, his hands roaming over his body, under his shirt, the touch of his fingers stealing Toby’s breath, Keller’s body pushing him down on the couch. 

“Not here,” was all Toby said and Chris groaned like a frustrated animal, walking Toby to the bedroom upstairs, then saying hoarsely, “No, not here, the other one, the cellar.” 

They fell on the sagging mattress half-naked already and entangled, trying to kiss and lick and bite and stroke any patch of skin within reach, tearing off their clothes, hard and aroused to the point of aching. When Chris closed his fingers around Toby’s cock Toby thought he’d come immediately and thrust hard, arching his body, throwing back his head, hissing. 

“Do it,” he said “do it now!” and he felt the strong hands parting his thighs and something cold –lotion and then… 

“Oh my God!” He yelled when Chris thrust inside, hard, then stopped, worried, but shaking with desire, his eyes shining like sapphires. 

“Are you sure we’re supposed to do this?” 

“If you stop now I swear I’m gonna die. Please… Please… Yes, yes, do it again, like this, just like this…” 

Pleasure took him off guard and he came, Chris still thrusting inside him, making it last endlessly. 

Later when they lay wrapped in each other’s embrace Toby listened to the pounding of his own heart. Now seemed as good a moment as any for dying, he thought, but he knew he was alive; more alive than he’d been for the whole previous year. 

“ Taylor ,” he whispered, wondering if he should ask and half asleep, Chris only said, “Bastard threatened you, bastard had to die.” 

And to Toby’s absolute horror, it made sense. So he held the strong body tighter, knowing that probably nothing would go the way Keller thought it would but also sure that he had Chris –for good this time. 

On that elating thought, he sunk into a deep dreamless sleep. 

THE END… 

  

_Thanks to all of you who nudged me, encouraged me, commented, and so on._


End file.
